A Warrior's Philosophy
by Not Fade
Summary: In the summer after OotP, Harry becomes determined to become what he must to fulfill the prophecy. He finds guidance and direction from a source he never expected. Independent!Harry, Semi-Dark!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: If You're Feeling Sinister

My hand clutches around my wand, and the words "Crucio" slip from my lips before I'm even aware I'm saying it.

Nothing happens, of course, as my target was an imaginary one, no where near me. I sit up in my bed at the Dursley's, shaking my head furiously and attempting to wake up further. The dream I was having was one I'd had every night since Sirius died. I watched him fall through the veil, seeing it over and over, seeing the look in his eyes. I'm pretty sure when it happened, we never locked gazes, but in my dream, he looks straight at me. His eyes are accusing. Or maybe we did. Its getting harder and harder to discern the difference between reality and my dreams.

I then follow LeStrange, to the point where I'm casting the Cruciatus on her. I failed then, but no matter what it takes, the next time I meet her, I swear on my magic she will feel its full brunt.

The thought of Sirius brings a fresh wave of nausea. I feel guilt, so much fucking guilt. I keep thinking I should be sadder, feel more grief, but all I feel is numb. I've tried to make myself cry over and over, recalling the most painful memories of him I can, but nothing comes. I wonder not for the first time since it happened if Voldemort had finally succeeding in breaking me.

Hedwig hoots softly, and I look over to her. She is perched on the sill of my open window, her amber eyes piercing my own, looking concerned. She can read me somehow, I know this without a doubt. I give her a grin.

"Hey girl. Good hunting, I hope?"

She seems to nod over towards her cage, where a few rat carcasses are strewn across its bottom.

"Good girl... none of those rats had a silver paw, I suppose?"

She hoots again, in a dangerous tone I take to mean 'Not yet.' Another, fluttering form comes into my room, landing beside Hedwig. In the dark, it takes me a few moments to see it fully. It's not another owl, but a raven.

"Oh, its you. Hullo, again."

The raven looks at me and croaks a reply. Hedwig seems to have made a friend in the week since we returned to the Dursleys. I'm positive its magical, otherwise I doubt the two species would mix as these two had. I'd seen them flying together earlier tonight, circling around Privet Drive looking for prey.

I wonder if somehow the raven is part of Dumbldedore's machinations, sent as another means of watching and 'protecting' me. I doubt it, though. He already has the Order standing sentry around the Dursley's house, after all.

"You know, if you keep hanging around, I'll have to give you a name," I say to the raven. "Or do you have one already?" It croaks, and flaps its wings at me. I snort, as I'm again reminded that practically the most significant interaction I've had since end of term has been with two birds. The Dursleys don't count.

They've been fine, but barely. I guess the warnings the Order members gave them were sufficient in scaring them. I don't really blame them, Alastor Moody scares me shiteless. I go over to the window, and open it wider for the raven and Hedwig. I scrape the rat bits into the bin and turn back to bed.

Hedwig ignores the implied invitation to go out again tonight and flies to the headboard, perching there as I get into bed. The raven hesitates for a moment before joining my owl.

"Gonna watch over me, are you?" I ruffle Hedwig's feathers a bit, as the raven clucks about, looking uncomfortable. I ignore it and lie down again, hoping that the dreams don't come again, but know they will.

*****************************

I wake up the next morning around 5 AM and stumble downstairs. I set the coffee to brew for when the elder Dursleys awake and set some ham to defrost to go with the eggs I'll make later.

When I was younger, I'd resent having to do this with every fibre of my being. I realize that somewhere along the way, that had stopped being the case. I shake my head a bit, wondering if I was just numb to it. Thinking on it a bit more, I think it's more that they don't deny my from enjoying the fruits of my own labor anymore. That and complaining about chores felt a bit... well, childish I guess. My relatives are bastards, I doubt I'll ever think otherwise, but there are far more evil things in this world and I've met them. Frequently.

Taking advantage of the fact that the Dursleys wont up for at least an hour, I take some books I had hidden around the house out and set to read them at the table with my coffee. I appreciate the irony in the fact that I'm hiding magical tomes, something the Dursley's despise with a passion, in the cupboard they used to lock me away in. They hadn't used it since. I think they're somewhat reluctant to be reminded of the literal skeletons in their closet.

This morning, however, I forgo my school texts and grab Machiavelli's "The Prince". It came recommended by Moody, who had taken to chatting with me after my morning jogs underneath his invisibility cloak. He seems to think it'll give me the right mindset I'll need for the war, and as I get further into it, I find myself agreeing. I thought it was strange at first he'd tell me to get a muggle book, but Moody knows the score and I trust his judgment.

Plus, it makes a certain amount of sense. I can't practice magic during the summer, and even if I study the theory of various charms, hexes and the like, it means exactly shite until I can try and cast them. Rather than doing nothing, I might as well hone my skills in other areas, like I was trying to do with exercise.

I briefly resent the fact that Dumbledore hadn't found a way to get me dispensation to practice magic. Or perhaps, it might be more accurate to say he could do it, but chooses not to. I feel somewhat guilty at the fact that I'm expecting special treatment, but at the same time, the prophecy is constantly at the forefront of my thoughts. I have to end this war. I have to kill Voldemort. And I'm getting no training? Even further than that, I'm being essentially cut off from the wizarding world for another summer. Does Dumbledore expect me to fight Voldemort using Protego, Expelliarmus and Stupefy? Just a month ago, I was proud at the progress I had made personally and even more so with what I was able to teach the D.A. It might have allowed me and the others to scrape by the Death Eaters at the Ministry, but having watched Dumbledore and Voldemort duel, I know that every single spell I know is woefully inadequate in comparison.

Not for the first time, I wonder if Dumbledore actually expects me to live through this war. The thought would have never entered my mind when I was younger. I would have blindly accepted anything Dumbledore did, and probably thought everything was going according to his plan, and would work out in the end. I have no faith left in my Headmaster.

My Aunt breaks me from my musings, walking rather sleepily into the kitchen. She eyes me, and then my book with trepidation, only slightly relaxing when she sees I'm doing nothing 'unnatural'. She pours two mugs of coffee and walks back out of the kitchen, not sparing me another look or word. I set my book aside and get to making breakfast proper.

After a rather silent and uncomfortable meal with my relatives, I head outside, stretching as I prepare for my now daily jog. You know, everyone assumes I'm in shape from Quidditch. How exactly is riding a broom meant to be exercise? Given their lack of any physical activity whatsoever, I've come to the conclusion the whole of the wizarding world would be as obese as the Americans if not for our magic.

Reaching the end of the drive, I continue to stretch and do other calisthenics. "Morning, Professor."

Slightly to my right, something shimmers for a moment before going still. The growl I had come to associate with Moody comes out of thin air with his reply. "Merlin's sweaty bollocks, Potter. I'd ask how you do that, except I'd rather protect my ego from the fact that a bloody schoolboy can spot me every time."

I laugh and look to where I assume his head is. "Natural talent, I suppose. Don't feel too bad."

Moody snorts and trots along me as I begin walking up the street, his false leg beating a staccato beat on the pavement. "And another thing, I'm not and never have been your 'Professor'. I thought you were bright, kid, you should know that."

I grin a little bit. "I do, but it annoys you." I knew I'd see a wry grin on his face if he were visible.

"Just call me Alastor." I'm somewhat touched by the implied respect in asking I call him his given name. "And do me a favor, Potter. Stay in view of Privet for your jog this morning, aye? I'm too bloody old to be chasing after you anymore."

I pick up the pace and nod. "Alright. And if I can't call you Professor, you shouldn't be calling me Potter. Harry's just fine."

I set off at a run and struggle to find my rhythm. I'd ask Dudley if I could borrow his walkmen for my runs, so I could listen to something, but find I can't bring myself to ask anything of him simply on principal. After a few moments, I see a familiar black form following me stealthily, tree to tree.

Again, I wonder what the hell this raven is, exactly. It's definitely been watching over me this summer. I don't feel too unnerved, since Hedwig has befriended it. I feel only slightly ridiculous in trusting the opinion of a pet owl, but then again Hedwig is family.

After a half hour or so, I come back to the Dursley's end of Privet, slowing. I stop for a moment when I see someone approaching me, but after a moment I can see its Moody, albiet altered by means of glamour charms to look less alarming in this muggle neighborhood.

"I thought I said stay in view, kid."

"Just trying to help get you in shape, Alastor."

"Trying to give me a heart attack, more like it."

"So whats up with Voldemort?" I ignore his slight shudder. Moody may be a frightening bastard, but even he cant seem to get over the fear of hearing that name. "Any movements? Deaths?"

He shakes his head slowly. "You know I can't tell you anything about what the Order's doing, but in general, nothing's happening. If I were a betting man, and I am, I'd say he's been licking his wounds and consolidating his forces since that fiasco at the ministry."

I consider that for a moment and nod. "Makes sense. After all, a good portion of his inner circle were captured there."

Moody, or rather the muggle doppelganger he was assuming, nods. "Aye. Are you getting the Prophet here?"

I shake my head and can't hide the bitterness from my voice. "No, the Dursley's have more than enough toilet paper. Why, are they back to worshiping the ground I walk on?" We continue past the Dursley's lawn, strolling leisurely down the street. I catch my Aunt's face in the window before the curtains draw tight.

"Aye, but that's not what I was talking about. Fudge seems to have grown a brass pair. He signed off on the veil for certain Death Eaters, namely the ones who had followed You-Know-Who the last go round. I suppose he wants to seem lenient, just sentencing the newer ones to life in Azkaban, but the only good Death Eater--"

"Is a dead one, I know." It was one of Moody's catchphrases, and I found I rather agreed with it. "Well, that's good."

If it were Dumbledore here, I imagine he'd give me a stern look for my rather bloodthirsty views, but I'm long past the point of caring about Dumbledore's opinion of me. Moody nods and looks pleased, but then disappoints with a stern view of his own. "Not necessarily, Harry. That includes Rodolphus and Rabastan LeStrange. From what I know about that daft bint Bellatrix, I doubt there's any love lost between her and her 'husband', but I reckon she'll be after your dangly bits just for the smirch on her character. Just be sure you practice --"

"Constant vigilance." I enjoy miffing him slightly by reciting his catchphrases before he even gets the chance to. "And bloody well let her come. After what she did to..."

I trail off slightly, the loss of Sirius coming fresh and painful from somewhere in the depths of my chest. Moody, only slightly awkwardly, places a grizzled paw on my shoulder. "I know, lad. Don't let yourself get cocky, though. You and your men did well in that battle, but you got lucky, the lot of you. You're a far cry from a warrior yet, son."

I try to be mad at his slight on my talents, but he's right and I know it. That will change, no matter what I have to do. "I know. I will be." I look at Moody straight in the eye, trying to convey the depths of that oath. He stares at me a moment, then nods.

Casting for lighter subjects, and failing miserably, Moody switches gears. "The muggles bein' decent, then?"

I shrug and sigh. "As decent they can be, I suppose."

He gives me a predatory grin. "You just let me know when they aren't. I reckon I need to shake the rust off for the war. I've been meaning to practice a few...things."

*****************************

After a rather uneventful rest of the day, I barricade myself in my bedroom at the Dursleys'. I was able to smuggle a few of my books up with me, past their prying eyes. If Hermione were here, she might praise me for doing homework so early in the summer, but you cant find any of these books on our list of approved and recommended reading.

They're not dark, exactly, but most of them aren't exactly legal either. I bribed Mundungus with the remaining galleons I had after term to venture into the seedier sides of Wizarding Britain to get them for me, and to also keep the fact he was doing so from Dumbledore. A few days earlier I had engaged Moody in a conversation, on what books he would get to train, were he younger and decided he wanted to brutally dismantle some Death Eaters. He elucidated me, reminding me this was 'on a purely theoretically basis, of course', wink.

Again, the fact I couldn't perform magic irked me, but at least it was something. From watching Dumbledore and Voldemort fight, I decided a few things. First, I know shite. Second, Hogwarts is just a lovely education when one wants to be a Ministry peon, but when you're going to grow up to be a fighter of Dark Lords, it's sorely lacking.

Even studying theory alone, I felt I was learning more than I had in my entire tenure at Hogwarts.

Dung managed to get me a few Grimoires, even. This, I'm told (by Dung as he attempted to wheedle more cash from me), is exceptionally hard to do in the wizarding world. These books are crafted personally by witches and wizards, infused with plenty of secret knowledge and spells he or she had created themselves. Most of the ancient families have even more impressive ones, handed down generation to generation, but I haven't any left testicles to spare to get one of those.

The one I'm finding most rewarding is Carina Zabini's personal Grimoire. She was Blaise's forebear by a few generations, and not exactly of-the-light. She had apparently been the personal spell researcher and spellcrafter of a minor Dark Lord in the early 1800s, and her tome includes scores of spells I'm rather eager to find a Death Eater guinea pig to try on.

I'm not only learning from the illegal texts, though. From "Theories on Higher Transfiguration" by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, I was learning the nuts and bolts behind what made the Headmaster successful in the battle that night against Voldemort. Apparently, this book was his dissertation when he was a younger man. Transfiguration, as taught in the Hogwarts curriculum, is a rather straightforward art. You take something and turn it into something else. Its reputation as the 'hardest' class at school was more due to the reputation of McGonagall as a taskmistress and the fact that it took a lot of power and willpower for the more advanced spells, than due to the level of difficulty in the spells themselves. I was coming to see it was far more than that.

As a branch, it incorporated a plethora of other practices, conjuration, animation, manifestation and so on. To a true master, like Dumbledore, it was the embodiment of the power of the wizard himself. A master willed his power into being, animating and controlling it to serve his whims.

In a real fight, there was little I could imagine being more helpful. Animals conjured, set to my will and harassing the enemy. The bric-a-brac littering a fight, the venue itself, assets rather than distractions. The basic spells of it were rather derivative, and not especially complex. If you can conjure a flobberworm, you can conjure a lion. If you can animate a paper airplane, you can animate a Golem of scrap metal. The only difference, really, was power, and the ability to control the simultaneous arts of transfiguration and conjuring or whatever together.

Arrogance aside, I was pretty sure I had the power to do exactly that, if I did a fair bit of training beforehand.

From "Dueling is For the Schoolyards: An Auror's Account of War" by Alastor Moody, I was trying to learn the tactics of actual mage warfare rather than the sterilized and watered down dueling which essentially was Defense Against the Dark Arts. After I got it, I sarcastically asked for Moody to sign it after a jog. He flipped me off.

Discounting the brutal, and frankly, horrifying accounts Moody had put in of his own battles, I was learning to my disappointment that I pretty much did nothing right, whenever I fought. Yeah, I probably could be a right keen dueler, but the idea of bowing to Lucius Malfoy and then engaging in somewhat ordered spellfire was laughable.

It had me running the battle of the Department of Mysteries over and over in my mind. I shot spells and waited to see if they land. Furthermore, I shot single spells. I wasted energy casting shields, eating spells instead of dodging when I could have. Granted, the Death Eaters were fairly similar in their tactics, but they were under order of bringing me in as a hostage, on top of safely securing the prophecy orb. Given the sheer death toll of the first War, and the fact that they cut through legions of adult wizards like they were paper, I doubted I would always be so lucky.

As Moody was oft repeating in the book, you never stop in a fight until the other bastard is in their death throes on the ground. You never hesitate to use anything in your arsenal, even the Unforgivables.

You keep moving. You conjure items to distract, you dodge, you use the environment to your advantage and to the other guy's detriment. The only force you use is lethal.

You use the home-court advantage. I was rather curious as to where Moody learned that muggle expression. In the context of what Moody was saying, this means you fight whenever possible in a place of your choosing. That's obvious enough, but this goes beyond the natural psychological effect of fighting in a place you're familiar and comfortable with. It should be a place of your choosing because you've effectively stacked your own deck. You have intricate wards in place, siphoning energy from opponents and making them incapable of retreat, reinforcement or escape. They are set to attack, defend, destroy. There are enchantments you have secured to bolster your own efforts, subtle advantages placed on the structure of your venue. As these advantages can be bought or otherwise gained from other wizards, as Moody would put it, you'd be a 'bloody idiot who deserves to die' if you haven't secured them.

On the flip side of the coin, he cites the advantages of Artificing. Given I'd only heard of this in passing, I'm pretty murky on this, but it's different than enchantment. Enchanting, apparently, is the brother school of Artificing. Enchanting are charms and other magics that are set, researched and developed if you will, over the millenia by witches and wizards. Brooms are enchanted. Artificing is a personal art. A wizard creates an item himself, infusing his own magic into it. They create the 'one of a kind items', an example being Godric Gryffindor's Sorting Hat. My broom is enchanted by John J. Everywizard of the Firebolt Corporation, but if I were able to artifice a broom, it would have magics that are specific to me infused into it. It could, say, fly on its own, directed by my will, or bolster my own flying instincts and so forth. Moody artificed his own eye, if you can believe it. It sounds bloody fucking difficult and I doubt I could ever do it, but it's something to look into.

Despite the fact that these were just things I quote unquote knew, rather than things I could actually do, I wasn't too disheartened. The second I got back to Hogwarts, I would start applying whatever I was able to glean from these and the other tomes I had Dung get me. I was pretty sure I could convince Flitwick to fight me. Despite the disdain I had acquired for 'dueling', he had been a Master, and applied charms, hexes, and just plain magic in ways that were ingenious and outside the box. Outside the box was good. I was sure his knowledge would carry over to the battlefield just as well as it did in a duel ring.

I'd wrangle McGonagall into teaching me some of the new aspects of Transfiguration I was learning. She might seem frosty and harsh, but she was a sweetheart when it came to me and I'd charm her tartan socks off if need be.

And, I pause here to convey my ultimate trepidation, I'd even go and somehow convince Snape to teach me not only Occlumency, but Legilimency as well. If nothing else proves the lengths to which I'm willing to go, that should.

If nothing else, it's going to be a long fucking year.

*****************************

The next afternoon, I found myself lifting weights in a local gym in Little Whinging. My spotter was Auror Nymphadora Tonks, her hair today a 'subdued' sky blue. I found myself thanking Circe that my Order bodyguards during the day shuffled between Tonks, Moody, and Dung, who were the three members most willing to accommodate me, besides perhaps Remus Lupin who was in Belgium infiltrating a werewolf clan for the next month (I wasn't supposed to know that, sure, but a casual fuck you to you, Mr. Dumbledore). Granted, I was still being watched, and the 'freedom' I had was limited, but it was nonetheless appreciated.

"Oy, mate, give it a rest! You're going to overtire yourself." I shuddered slightly, sweating heavily as I set down the last rep of my set. Tonks doesn't get it. I don't just have to work past my limits, I have to shatter the fuckers and leave them in my wake. I acquiesced, though.

"Alright then, you want a go?" She nodded and slightly lowered the weight on the bar. I took a casual stance behind her, my palms ready to support her if need be.

I supposed I should feel depressed in her presence, as she had been Sirius' cousin nominally, and more of a niece in spirit. I found myself being more comforted than anything else though, as we mutually worked through some of our grief and tried to be a friendly support for one another. Tonks exhaled heavily and did a rep.

"So little guy, how are you doing today? The way you're attacking these weights, I've half a mind you actually have someone after you, or something." I snort at her joke, and at the use of her rather annoying endearment 'little guy'.

"Peachy, Nymphadora." I can play the name game too. "Hey, I've had this question for a while. As a metamorphmagus, can you change your body form, or is that rack of yours natural?"

She squeaks falters the rep she was currently doing to give me a death glare. I smirk back like the innocent schoolboy I am.

"Wanker. I suppose -- if we're asking -- embarrassing questions of one another -- I should ask -- does Hogwart's golden trio -- really get all sweaty and -- ravage each other?" She stops her set and places the bar down with a rather smug look. "I'm fairly certain I read something to that effect in the Prophet the other day."

I clutch my heart and give her a wounded look. "You hurt me Nymphy. You know I only have eyes for you."

"Who's the better shag, Ron or Herm--"

"Too far Tonks, too far." I glare back, infinitely enraged at the fact that she gave me a mental image of Ron's bits.

She gives a smile that looks anything but conciliatory. "Sorry. So little guy, how about we earn back some of these calories, hm? My treat."

I nod, and we exit the gym, walking to a nearby pub, sniping at each other in a somewhat friendly matter as we go.

Ten minutes later, we both have a pint and a decent hot meal in front of us.

"Molly and McG would kill me if they knew I had ever given you alcohol, bucko. Our little secret, eh?"

I nod and take a sip of the Guinness. There are benefits to the fact that Tonks is barely older than I am, not the least of which being her smoking hot figure.

"Seriously Tonks... are you doing okay?"

She blanches and her hair shifts color for just an instant. I look around, but none of the muggles seems to have noticed. "Yeah. I mean, I feel really silly sometimes, you know? I was just a sprite before they carted him off to Azkaban, and then spent most the rest of my life cursing his name."

I shrug and sigh a bit, taking another sip of my pint. "Aye, and I knew him exactly two years before he... he died. It's not as if there are rules here." She gives me a sympathetic look and shovels some food down her gullet. Despite her pixie figure, she can give Ron a run for his money when it comes to chowing down. She shoots me a careful look and seems like she's considering her next words carefully.

"Sirius' will was read the other day. My mother and I, Remus, and you are the beneficiaries, the sums split equally three ways."

I sit silently for a few moments. "Okay."

"Well, enough of the maudlin, eh mate? Guess what?"

I play along and open my eyes real wide and attempt a breathless reply. "What?"

"I was finally able to nick an Auror's manual for you. This will get you arrested and me fired if anyone finds it, mind. So be careful." She takes a slim book out of her purse and slides it over to me. I give her a genuine smile.

"Thanks. I'll be careful, wizard's promise."

"Aye, you will, or I'll hex you so the witches are all talking about Harry Potter's three inch, peckerwood wand."

I guffaw and flip open to the book's index. A lot of this is bureaucratic bullshit, but a good bit cover tactics and spells that the general public isn't allowed to know. If only I could get an Unspeakable's handbook, but I take what I can get.

"So Tonks, you never really answered me before."

"About what, kiddo?"

"Your rack, is it--"

I never finish my sentence and spend the rest of my meal massaging myself from the 'love tap' Tonks' heel had given my bits.

*****************************

Later that night, I stumble into my bedroom, intending to pass out as soon as my head hit the pillow. I find Hedwig and the raven waiting for me, perched as they had been on my headboard last night, both watching me closely.

"Well, hello girls. I suppose I should be happy to have two females waiting for me in bed, but you'll have to forgive me..."

I turn and toss my wand onto my desk, cracking knuckles and neck and other body parts that shouldn't crack before turning back to flop into bed. The raven flutters up momentarily, hovering over my bed before it suddenly shifts, turning into a far bigger form than a raven.

After a few seconds, Bellatrix LeStrange stares back at me where the raven just had been, her wand pointed at my heart.

*****************************


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Go Off and See a Minister

I'm screaming bloody murder, only no sound comes out. I'm strangling the life out of Bellatrix's scrawny throat, only my hands are pinned against my sides, her skillful body bind rendering me useless.

Before I even had time to blink, let alone grab for my wand, Bellatrix has me bound and helpless. She smirks slightly, barely reacting to the look of pure hatred I am giving her. She maneuvers me to my bed, putting me onto it in a sitting position, before flicking her wand again to conjure herself a plush armchair.

Sitting herself down, and putting her feet up on my bed a few feet away from me, she's content in simply staring at me for a few minutes, while I glare back in impotence. What feels like hours later, she speaks.

"Harry Potter. We meet again."

I give a guttural growl, which is all I seem to be able to manage.

"Yes, I'm rather sure you're unhappy with me, given recent...events." She leers at me, bending slightly to look me right in the eye. "Are you going to behave yourself, or shall I leave on the silencing charm? Wouldn't want to alert the muggles, would you? Though you may endanger those around you quite often by happenstance, I know you never do it purposefully."

I growl again at the implied insult, before slightly nodding my head. She flicks her wand again.

"You." I say it with all the force and hatred of an Avada Kedavra. Bellatrix inclines her head slightly.

"Yes, me." I try to prove everyone wrong and show that looks can in fact kill, and she meets my gaze head on. "Well, Harry? Don't you have any questions?"

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Do to you? Well, I'm going to have a chat with you, what else?"

"Why aren't I dead yet? Why aren't you calling Voldemort? To better torture me?"

She lights a cigarette and leans back into the chair luxuriously. "Those are indeed good questions, Harry. To the last, I have no intention of torturing you, should you not give me good reason. For the first two, I also have no intention of killing you."

I believed Seamus more when he told me he had once had it off with both the Patil twins, at the same time. "Right. I suppose you and I are going to grab a pint, chat like the old mates we are?"

"No. You're going to listen to me, and listen well. I am well aware of the hatred you have of me. I doubt there's anyone who you hate more, other than my Lord, is there?" She pauses for her rhetorical question. "I'm here to find out if besides being the Boy-Who-Lived, you have any modicum of intelligence whatsoever."

Disbelieving I'm even having what some people could consider a polite conversation with Bellatrix Fucking LeStrange of all people, I'm curious. "And what does that mean?"

"That means, Harry, I'm here to help."

*****************************

Twenty minutes later, I'm still on my bed, bound and silenced. Bellatrix reapplied Silencio after I had rather loudly and disbelievingly ranted at the idea of her ever 'helping me'. She remains silent the whole time.

"I hope you have been able to calm yourself. That sort of emotion will get us nowhere."

I'm still seething inside, but I collect myself to the point of giving her a nod. She seems satisfied, I suppose, because she lifts the silencing spell.

"The only way you can help me, LeStrange, is by standing real still and letting me practice my Crucio on you."

"Believe me Harry, having already experienced it, I'm positively shuddering at the idea of experiencing that behemoth again." Her lips snarl in disdain of my torturing abilities, apparently. Gee Bella, I'm sure sorry I'm not a fucking murderous, insane savage like yourself!

"Now, you are going to listen calmly to what I have to say. You're going to listen intelligently. Are we clear?"

Apparently, we're not, because she looks at the visage of rage that my face is and sighs.

"Harry, I've been coming almost nightly to your room. Think, boy! See more than your feeble, teenaged emotions! I have had ample opportunity to murder you, or deliver you to my Lord. I haven't."

"And why, pray tell, is that, Bella?" I spit her name, angered by, among other things, the fact she insists upon using given name.

"I will get to that. I'm here, Harry, as I have said, to help. I am here to help you kill my Lord. To help you win." She looks at me and ashes her cigarette, and sighs once more before silencing me all over again. "My apologies, Harry, but I rather don't trust the fact that you will allow me to say what I mean to without interruption, let alone disbelief."

She lights a fresh cigarette, and conjures a bottle of wine, along with a glass already full for herself. Another appears and she offers it to me with a grin, knowing full well that even if I'd ever accept something from her bloody fucking hands, I'm fully bound. A shrug and she leans back.

"I am here, Harry, because I believe, fully and without a doubt, that you'll win." My eyes bulge, and Bellatrix chuckles. "It's true. For one, I know of the prophecy. My Lord's inner circle know only that it exists, but I know the first two lines. They are enough. I can infer the rest. You are, as it says, the one with the power to 'vanquish the Dark Lord'. That means no one else can kill him, and were I to guess, only he can kill you.. I also take it to mean that you will, in the end, be victorious."

She stretches again and places her feet on my bed once more. "I infer that because, among other reasons, my Lord has failed repeatedly when it comes to killing you. My Lord has never failed in that regard, ever, before. When I joined my Lord's ranks, His victory was assured. There was only Dumbledore between Him and complete victory, and my Lord vanquishing that fool was a foregone conclusion. I join your ranks now, because I feel equally sure that you will triumph.

Additionally, though I believe you will kill my Lord, you might lose. Let us consider the possibility. I am here because even if you do, I will never be more than a lieutenant in my Lord's legion. I am the greatest, the brightest, the best the Death Eaters have to offer. However, my Lord brooks no true council but His own and abides no confidants. There is little true power in even what I have acheived in my Lord's ranks."

She pauses and sips a long draught from her wine glass, finishing it and pouring another. "Should I take the chance and help you, and you vanquish my Lord, I will be legend. I will become nearly as unimpeachable as you yourself will be. The heroine who turned to the side of the light, without whom the saviour would surely have crumbled." She leers at me momentarily. "Though I shudder at the fact that the sheep will consider me 'noble' and 'good', I will suffer it for the position it will provide me."

She ashes her second cigarete and leans closer to me, making sure to catch my eye. "You will use your considerable influence after the war to ensure that my sister and nephew will be acquitted of their crimes. You will assist me in restoring the Black name to the lofty position it once held in our society. Take comfort, Harry, in the fact that you'd be helping your departed Godfather's family."

Though fully bound and silent, I somehow shudder in rage, praying to any powers that be that I may throw off her enchantment and throttle her alive.

"Yes, I know this will prove a point of contention between you and I, Harry. I killed my cousin, your godfather. Know this. It was unintentional. My spell, as you remember, was a stunner. My taunts to you afterwards were a result of my spectacular showmanship, done for the benefit of my Lord. I have become infamous as the most fanatical supporter my Lord has, in addition to being insane, and it amuses me. It also allows me to assume a mask and hide my true intentions. The fervor I act with brooks me more favor with my Lord than any of my other brethren.

Rest assured, Harry. I, personally, took no particular joy in killing my cousin, nor were any of the taunts I had for you heartfelt."

She stops again and moves closer to me, a dark look crossing her face.

"Do not take that to mean I regret my actions whatsoever. I am a warrior, and you and your Godfather were my enemy that night. When lethal force is directed at me, I will always return it. Your Godfather was a fool to taunt me, and died because of his own arrogance."

She sighs once more at the look of pure hate crossing my face. "I can see it will take time for you to take me at my word. I knew this, of course. I never expect you to trust me Harry, you would be a fool if you did. However, we will not have a beneficial relationship if you do not believe, at least, my intentions. I give you a show of good will then, hm?"

She flicks her wand, and I see her purse pop onto her lap. She reaches into it and pulls out, by the tail, an unmoving rat. A rat with a silver paw.

"Yes, I can see you recognize this sniveling weakling. A gift for you, Harry, to prove, perhaps, my intentions and to fulfill the desire I know you have for revenge and to clear your Godfather's name. I stunned and obliviated the cretin. You can claim to the ministry and your Order that you spied him watching you here, and managed to subdue him, and turn him in to much fanfare and I'd imagine ceremony in clearing your Godfather's name beyond a shadow of a doubt. Or, you may kill him yourself now and no one but you and I will know. I give the choice to you."

Despite the almost blinding hatred I am feeling towards her, Bellatrix's words stun me for a moment. A small smile spreads across her face.

"Think on that well, Harry." She drains her glass of wine once more and regards me. "Now, I realize you have questions of me, to prove my will to you. You will conduct yourself calmly, or not at all." She flicks her wand at me and removes the silencing and binding spells. My eyes flicker to my wand, across the room on my desk. The movement is not missed by Bellatrix.

"You could try. I will even let you retrieve it, if it pleases you. You would not finish a syllable before I killed you, however." I sit still for a moment and stare at her. She nods, a prodding gesture. I go over to my wand and grab it, not pointing it at her, but rejoicing that I at least have it at my side. Her hand waves, inviting or perhaps more accurately ordering me to sit again, which I do. She hands me the second glass of wine before filling it.

"Pettigrew is mine, then."

"He is. To do with what you will."

"And how am I to know this isn't a ploy by Voldemort?" I pause, gauging her reaction. At the Department of Mysteries, she nearly castrated me for saying the Dark Wanker's name. Now, she doesn't even flinch, nor does she appear agitated at my uttering it.

"A somewhat intelligent question, Harry, I salute you. You don't. We could swear an oath, but I assure that were this a 'ploy' as you say, my Lord would have already guaranteed a way around it."

"How are you even here? Dumbledore is sure of my protection here, and the wards." To my surprise, she applauds softly.

"Exactly, Harry, how am I here? The wards are working just as they were meant to. My Lord knows of them. I am here at His behest, ordered to spy on you in my animagus form, but even He does not know I am able to be in contact with you."

I growl at her non answer. "And that means...?"

"It means, I could only cross these wards if I meant you no harm. As my actions prove, and as I have been saying all along."

That throws me for a loop. I sit back, stunned, and as I do take the opportunity to look around the room. I see Hedwig, and realize she has been here the entire time. She didn't even squawk when Bellatrix bound me. I give Hedwig a confused look and she cocks her head to the side in return. Bellatrix is watching me, calmly. I turn back to her.

"It proves nothing. You could have no intention of killing me, and still come in here, secure my trust, and lead me to a situation where I would be captured, or killed."

A vicious smile spreads across her lips. "Finally, intelligence! Yes Harry. That is exactly true. However, what of this? Should you require, you and I together will never leave the confines of these wards. You cannot be harmed."

"Fine then, lets say you are here to help me. You expect me to believe Voldemort wouldn't discover you were a traitor? Kill you on the spot?"

She sneers and shakes her head, dissapointedly. "And just when you were proving you had some sense. Think, boy! Severus Snape spies on my Lord for the Order. My Lord is convinced he is a double agent, working on His behalf, when he is puppet of Dumbledore. You think I am not capable of something Snape is?"

I don't know if I'm more surprised that she knows Snape is a spy, not just for Dumbledore but the Order, or that she's convinced he is, in fact, on the Order's side, something I've never believed. "Occlumency, then."

She nods. I growl again, rather angry at whatever Gods there might be, for putting me in this situation, and in a small way, at myself for even entertaining the possibility of accepting help from Bellatrix.

"And even if I believe you, why should I accept your help? You're a murderer."

Bellatrix barely sneers and looks rather bored at the accusation. "And you killed Quirrel. Are you not a murderer yourself?" She looks at me, and continues quickly knowing I was about to interject. "I admit it freely. I am a killer. I am, in fact, bloody brilliant at it. I intend to make you the same."

In a conversation full of things I'd never imagine I'd hear, I definitely didn't expect that. "You tortured the Longbottoms into insanity. You made my friend an orphan."

"So? That hardly matters."

I stand up so fast my glass of wine shoots out of my hand and shatters on the floor. "Of course it matters, you bloody cunt!"

Her wand is pointed at my throat. "Sit." She says this in a rather bored tone. "Fine. I expected righteous anger with regards to my cousin, but not the Longbottoms. I should have remembered your famous nobility." She spits the last worse like a curse. "A story, then. After you defeated my Lord for the first time, everything was in shambles. My brethren and I were jockying for power. Some sought to restore our Lord, some sought to replace him. Many turned to the Ministry to curry favor and reduced punishment for betraying their Brothers.

My husband and I knew of the prophecy, as I said. We also knew of the Longbottoms, as all of our Brothers did during the last war. They were as infamous as your own parents. They placed themselves under the Fidelius the same time your family had. Their child fulfilled the same requirements of the prophecy as you did.

Rodolphus and I went to kidnap him. Were we ever captured, we hoped it would secure our freedom. The Ministry would be eager as the Longbottoms were well-respected aurors. Dumbledore would be as he knew the Longbottom boy was the other potential child of the prophecy. Crouch came, because we ordered him to. He was to watch over the Longbottoms as we tried to examine the boy for any particular power or magics. While we did, he tortured them to insanity and fled, and we were captured."

I relax, but only slightly. "So you didn't drive them insane. It wasn't you."

She jabs her wand into my throat once more. "That doesn't matter! I cast the very first Cruciatus on them both that night. I would have done the job Crouch did, had it provided any benefit to me. It did not."

I sit down. "You'll have to forgive my nobility," I say it much in the manner that she had minutes before, "that I take some comfort in the fact that you don't hurt or kill for pleasure." She looks thoughtful, and nods.

"That is acceptable. It is true, and I am glad it pleases you."

I nod slightly. "So then. Let's say I accept your offer. What does it entail?"

Bellatrix twirls her wand through her fingers idly as she considers the question. "I will train you. Never forget this, Harry. You need me to win." I quirk an eyebrow up at that.

"Oh?"

"Of course. Dumbledore is a fool. He hasn't trained you at all, and expects you to win, I'm sure, because love and light and goodness are on your side or some such tripe."

Feeling rather detached from the situation, and wondering if I'm in shock, I share a snort of laughter with Bellatrix LeStrange.

"You will need to be much more, if you are to defeat my Lord. I have seen you this summer, trying woefully to ready yourself for the battles to come. I suppose I'd call it admirable, except it is nowhere near enough. Your attempts are that of an amateur. Your knowledge is pitiable. The biggest flaw is, of course, your outlook."

"Huh?"

"You cling to your naivety. You believe in good and evil, as if such things exist. You lack the heart to fulfil the destiny that is yours. You need to be a killer."

I grumble. I shift from side to side. I'm pretty sure I'm just angry because of all people, Bellatrix is repeating to me exactly what I myself believe I need to do to win this war. I shunt the feeling aside and try my best to be pragmatic.

"You're right." She looks mildly surprised, and though I am fairly certain such a feeling shouldn't be allowed to exist in a person like Bellatrix, pleased.

"I knew there was potential in you. Especially after you attempted to torture me." She says this with no malice in her tone, even as I'm sure she knows that were I able to, I would have done it.

"Then know this...Bellatrix. I accept your offer, but I don't, and will never trust you. And you will have to prove yourself to me, many times over."

She inclines her head slightly, and I feel a bit of my soul slip away as I quite literally sign a deal with a devil.

*****************************

The next morning comes, and I feel guiltier and dirtier each passing hour. I turn the decision of deciding to accept Bellatrix's help over in my head a thousand times, wondering if it was the right thing to do.

Somehow, and I can't say why, I feel that it was. Another part of me, which I'm equally certain of, says that even if it was the 'right thing' to help me defeat Voldemort, even that doesn't make this worth it.

Bellatrix is perched next to Hedwig in her cage in her raven form, seeming to size me up. Looking for a reaction, I suppose. I ignore her and stomp out of the room, making breakfast for the Dursleys and going out for my now customary morning jog. In all honestly, I don't feel like going through with it, but I'm fairly sure Moody would assume something was wrong if I didn't. Besides, I have to see him anyway.

I go up the driveway and spot Moody under his cloak yet again. I'd tease him, but my heart isn't in it. It's not in much this morning. "Morning, Alastor."

"Harry. Bloody hell, look at you? What's up with --" I cut him off, not in the mood for sympathy, or even kind words right now.

"I have a present for you." Reaching into my pocket, I take out the still-stunned Pettigrew and toss him on the ground around where I know Moody to be. I see the flutter in the air as he stoops over to regard it. He whistles.

"Well, bugger me up the arse. Is this --"

"Yep. Pettigrew. Saw him in the bushes last night, when I was taking out the trash. Stupid fucker didn't even see me coming. Grabbed him, then fed him some sleeping potion left over in my trunk."

Even though I know that under the cloak, Moody is grinning almost obscenely, I can't seem to muster any mutual joy. A part of me, that I don't want to hear, whispers that I'm just glad to have him off my hands, as I was actually considering Bellatrix's offer to kill him. No one would've been the wiser.

I'm pretty sure Bellatrix gave me that choice just to fuck with me.

"I'll have to take him to Dumbledore as soon as someone else can get here for your protection."

"Right. See you." Without any more fanfare, I take off for my jog. My feet are pounding the pavement hard, trying to beat the rage I'm feeling out of me. I take huge, ragged breaths, not at all associated with the light work out.

What the fuck am I doing? I'm accepting help from Sirius' bloody murderer! I'm desecrating his memory, literally! I'm actually allowing her to teach me to be like her, to murder just like she did Sirius!

I feel the rage boil up, just under the surface for these past few hours, singing in my blood. And what of Neville? The boy practically worships me. And here I am, in league with the cunt who turned his parents into vegetables. If he found out, he'd try to kill me. What's more, he'd be totally justified.

Here I am, supposed to be the fucking saviour of the fucking wizarding world. The golden child of Light. Dumbledore's champion. I'm a goddamn monster. I stop jogging and break into a full on sprint. Like the hounds of hell are nipping at my heels. They just might be.

I slow slightly, and try to calm myself. There are a thousand reasons why I should have done why I did, given (and this is a big, Hagrid sized fucking given), she's actually on the up and up. First off, she told me she would spy for me. Not for Dumbledore, like Snape, but for me, and forgive me but even if she's the heartless, sociopathic cunt I believe her to be, I still trust that a lot more than I do anything Snape does. Lives can be saved by that.

Secondly, I completely believe her when she says she is the best the Death Eaters have to offer. If I succeed in making her an ally to 'our side', that alone justifies what I'm doing. I consider briefly the rest of the Inner Circle. Malfoy, Nott, Dolohov, Yaxley, Rookwood, Rabastan and Rodolphus LeStrange, Greyback...Bellatrix gave me a good run down on each and every one of them last night, including the fact that those caught at the battle at the Ministry had already succeeding in escaping Azkaban, the Dementors having recently defected to Voldemort's side. Well, who the fuck couldn't have seen that coming?

I shudder as I recall the information she gave me on those men. Until then, I was fairly sure they were threats, but reasonably 'mild' ones. I mean, after all, six bloody fucking children escaped them, right? The Order, filled with such fearsome fighters such as Mundungus Fletcher, Molly Weasley, and Elphias Doge succeeded in capturing them, aye? Lucius Malfoy got beat up by an elf, right?

Wrong. Every, single one of them were bloodthirsty, and very, very dangerous. Lucius' surname may as well be Du Sade, from what Bellatrix told me of the Malfoy Manor's basement chamber. Rookwood was a bloody Unspeakable, for fuck's sake. Forgoing the talents and power necessary in acheiving THAT goal, he knows more about our 'government' than bloody Fudge does. Dolohov, I cringe to remember, was an Eastern European warmage that, among other things, was a lieutenant of Grindelwald and Bellatrix reckons he's murdered more people than Voldemort himself.

I try to think over the members of the Order, the supposed champions of 'our side' in this war. Among other things, Bellatrix shocked me as she had given a complete and detailed run down of every single member of the Order, and assured me Voldemort had the same information.

Moody, I was sure, was a good fighter and could perhaps, in his prime, match the Inner Circle. He had in the past, after all, and that wasn't even two decades ago. He was still 'young', almost, as wizards go. Bellatrix regaled me with the true story as to how Moody got those brutal injuries, and I almost wish she hadn't.

After I 'defeated' Voldemort the first time, Moody lobbied for and gained permission for the Aurors to use the Unforgivables in rounding up the remaining Death Eaters, earning him the additional moniker of "Hardcore" Moody. Many say he was sick of war and death and wanted to use any means necessary to completely end it. Bellatrix says he was bored. By himself, he cornered Rosier, Karkaroff, Gainsly and Pyle in an abandoned Death Eater safehouse. Rosier, he killed outright. Gainsly, got off a hex that didn't just cut off his leg, but bloody fucking dissolved it off and Pyle gouged the eye out with a knife. Moody shrugged off the Imperius they put on him after that, cast one of his own, and had Gainsly kill Pyle with the bloody remains of his amputated leg as he took down Karkaroff. "Hardcore" Moody indeed.

Let's not forget the fact, however, that he was captured and beaten by Barty Crouch, Jr., long-since stranger to sanity at the time and Peter effing Pettigrew, the amazing all-but-a-squib. Perhaps he could shake off the rust, but I cant take that as a given.

Tonks, as Moody's protege, had potential. Bellatrix had a less than thrilled opinion of her neice's talents, and I find myself agreeing with her. Tonks could be a warrior down the road, but right now she's a wet behind the ears, barely-an-Auror.

Shacklebolt was brutal, powerful, and smart. Bellatrix told me that many of her 'Brethren' as she kept calling them, were somewhat afraid of him. Perhaps seeing him as a bit like this generations version of 'Moody', I found that comforting.

Dumbledore, despite all the recent ill will I've felt towards the man, is a given. I was a bit surprised when Bellatrix also mentioned Dumbledore's younger brother, Aberforth, until she told me that in the first war, when Giants were assaulting the Quidditch World Cup held in Spain at the time, he had taken down five of them alone.

The rest, Tonks, Lupin, the Weasleys... well, I felt awful thinking of them as such, as I cared for a good number of them, they were fodder. No, that isn't quite right. A good many of them could be brilliant, could be warriors. But they weren't, yet. They were untested; they had no blood on their hands. And until they did, to the likes of Voldemort and those he kept close, they were nothing. This, Bellatrix assures me, is the only reason most of the Order hadn't been decimated. Because Voldemort likes playing with his food.

She says she can help me. She says she can train me, teach me how to kill every one of those wastes of sperm and then the king Cumbucket of them all. If I have to become the fucking Devil himself it's worth it.

Or so I keep telling myself.

I slow my jog to a low-key trot and Tonks herself comes jogging up to me. In an attempt to look like a muggle, she's got spiky neon pink hair, a miniskirt and a t-shirt with the infamous Misfit's skull on it. She's succeeding, I suppose, except teenage rebellion is squashed rather forcefully here in this godforsaken suburb and she's a bit old for it.

"Harry! Is it true? It's true isn't it! You caught Pettigrew!" She breathes out, mile a minute, grabbing my hand and jumping up and down.

"Yeah. Moody went to Dumbledore, then?"

"You caught Pettigrew!" She screeches again, completely ignoring my question. "Moody just came and told us, and Dumbledore went straight to the Ministry, put that bastard in a bloody rat cage and had him running on a wheel! And you got him! Dumbledore's clearing Sirius' name right now!"

I shrug. With the way I feel today, her normally endearing bubbly nature is doing nothing but annoying me, and I feel no pride in handing in the table scraps Bellatrix allowed me. I was ready for being credited the hero again, like in times past not having actually been the cause of the 'victory', but what I wasn't ready for was the kiss she crushed to my lips.

I guess I kind of stagger back, embarassingly enough, but she stays with it. She shoves her tongue in, her hands going to my hair and her body pressing hard into mine. After a few moments, she breaks the kiss and steps back a bit to regard me.

"Oh...shite. I shouldn't have done that."

The horror on her face, I'm assuming from her having tried to what Dean would call "jumping my bones", is amusing. She starts breathing heavily and looks rather like a deer caught in the headlights. I don't know what I'm doing, but with the way I feel today, something in her kiss breaks me. Cuts open the big gaping wound of everything I had been feeling. I look at her and know that I just want to feel something, anything at all, and grab her shirt, using it to pull her toward me and kiss her again.

*****************

A/N: As I hope is not too painfully obvious, I have no Beta Reader. If anyone would like to volunteer themselves, please let me know. Reviews welcome and appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Woah, oh oh, Hatebreeders

Minutes later, Tonks and I are in her flat, god knows where in London. She side-along apparated us, and without a word spoken between us we made our way up to her place, shedding clothing along the way. Tonks practically kicked the door open, pulling me inside and we collapse in a heap on the couch in her living room. She's tugging at my belt and I'm tugging at her bra, and after a bit of wrestling we're both naked. She gives me another searing kiss, during which she lowers herself onto me.

All this takes barely over thirty seconds, and I'm overwhelmed. I've been in many situations where I've been stripped of my control. Situations where I'm forced to watch, to be a bystander as whatever that spiteful bastard Fate has decided to heap upon me this time unfolds. This is different. I have no control, and it feels amazing. Beyond liberating. Like I'm grabbing the fire and letting it devour me whole, cleanse me.

From the girls I know, my year mates like Lavender and Parvati, or Susan Bones who, if you care to know, is by all accounts a right hussie, your first time is god awful. It's messy, it's sloppy, and you're terrible at it.

From the blokes I know, such as Dean, Fred and George, and Sirius (and for bloody fucking sake Snuffles, if you're hearing this wherever you are, get out of my head. I have no desire to be thinking of you while doing this) it's incredible. It's everything you've ever been waiting for in your pathetic life, and their first times they were sex-Gods and bloody wore the poor girl out by their efforts and they lasted all night, 'not that I'm bragging of course'.

The only thing I can think of, as it's happening, to describe it is... desperate. Animal, really, if I think about it. No one in their right minds would call this 'making love'; 'fucking' is far more accurate than 'shagging', which sounds like it'd be sweet or fun or playful. No, we're pretty much attacking each other and she's clawing at my back and I'm biting at her neck.

Tonks, if I'm reading her right, is barely here. If she were, common sense or any sort of critical thinking would have had her put a stop to what we're doing. I'm pretty sure she's approaching where I am, emotionally, mentally. She's a soldier in this war with firmly declared loyalties. She's a fighter and a target. She's young and scared shiteless that she's going to die tomorrow, and that not a damn thing matters anymore. It's a feeling I can relate to.

I can't really describe what's going through my mind right now. I recognize on some level this is important, but cant seem to grab a hold of the gravity of the moment and am just... in it. I realize whats happening is wrong. We really shouldn't be doing this. I barely know Tonks, or she I. I doubt that this is the beginning of a long and meaningful relationship. She's been grieving hard, and so have I, and sheerly by being in the proximity of one another that has lead to this.

Losing my virginity should be a big deal, right?

And even as I struggle to block her from my mind, Bellatrix comes to the forefront. The guilt I'm feeling, the sheer self-loathing from allowing myself to at least provisionally work with a disgusting, waste of humanity like she is, is overwhelming. Maybe I'm seeing how low I can go. Maybe I feel lower than I've ever been, and just want to feel again. Maybe, just maybe, I'm trying to degrade myself even further to prove Bellatrix is all wrong about me. I really have no idea.

Tonks shudders and sighs and gasps. I pretty much just growl. Many times over, we switch position, flipping each other over in almost a contest, though I'm not sure what the rules of it are. After an amount of time I can't discern -- five, ten minutes, an hour? -- I feel it coming, and she clamps her teeth down on my shoulder and bites hard, and I yell out as I cum.

A few panting, gasping minutes later, we're still piled in a heap on her couch, naked, and oblivious to one another. I think, though I can't be sure, my heart just might have stopped beating out of my chest. Maybe.

"Merlin, Harry, where the hell did you learn that?" She breathes throatily after a few more minutes. I don't know the answer to that one.

"Erm--" I say, proving once again what a smooth operator Harry James Potter is, and feeling myself blush. For fuck's sake, we just practically devoured each other, and now I get all wrong footed just by flirting.

She's dressing herself and guzzling down a cold beer. I ask her for a sip and she floats me my own over from her fridge. Even if I have no idea how long that lasted, I give myself a mental slap on the back for the fact that we both look like we ran a marathon.

"I shouldn't have done that, Harry. Seriously. You're a minor, and I'm a bloody Auror! And you're grieving, I mean Sirius just died and your heart's broken, I just know it, and I'm taking advantage of that and--" she's working herself into a right state, and I put my hand on hers and cup it softly.

"Tonks, you did nothing of the sort. If anything, we took advantage of each other." She sits silently, but still looks miserable, and I draw her close and kiss her on the top of her head. "Look, lets be honest, this was going to happen eventually. We both felt that this summer." I pause for her reaction, and get none, taking that to mean I'm right. Wow, I kind of pulled that out of my arse. "And I'm bloody glad it did."

She sighs and shakes her head, shifting down closer to me. I experience the post-coital act the blokes I know terrifyingly refer to as "cuddling", and find it much better than they had lead me to believe it would be.

*****************************

Hours later, after Tonks had somewhat hysterically realized we needed to get back to Privet Drive (I shudder to imagine Moody finding us absent, even if he couldn't infer exactly what we were doing), I'm back in my bedroom. We shared a fiery kiss and a by-all-accounts awkward goodbye, especially since I was only going up to my room and she would be outside, watching the house. It's about ten at night, but I feel knackered as all hell, especially after not having got any sleep the night previous. Even with the tiredness I feel right to my bones, I'm hesitant in actually going to my bedroom to find what awaits me. I even idly consider trying to spend time with the Dursleys, just to delay the inevitable.

I suppose that it's fitting I lost my virginity today, since I gave it up in the figurative sense last night, along with any shred of innocence I had.

The raven, which I wonder whether or not had been there in the same spot this entire time, flies off Hedwig's perch and transforms into Bellatrix.

"Harry."

"Bellatrix. How are you this evening?" I say, almost able to make my tone polite and curious.

"Fine, thank you. My Lord summoned me, along with the rest of the Inner Circle this afternoon. He wanted, mostly, to discuss my spying on you, and what I had discovered. I told Him you were bumbling around, wallowing in your grief for your mutt of a Godfather and no threat whatsoever."

"Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome. Rookwood reported that his old contacts in the Ministry informed Him that this year's Quidditch Cup would be held in Rumania. In response to the unrest of our world, the ICW had hoped to dissuage any attempts by my Lord and brethren by concealing the location until the last moment. My Lord plans to make His presence known there. Further, I've succeeded in warding your room, so that no one will hear our goings on or feel the magic I will eventually be doing here."

I nod rather absently and slump down on the bed.

"So how was she?"

I bolt straight up after that and look kind of wild eyed at Bellatrix. I seriously hope she doesn't mean what I think she means.

"My niece, that is. Did you enjoy bedding her?"

"You -- I -- that isn't... I just --"

"I expected it, really. I imagine you're feeling rather down today. Dirty. After accepting our deal last night, you're pitying yourself and feeling like you've become 'evil', whatever that is. Besides, you're not to blame, Harry. I saw the way she was acting a slag, throwing herself at you--"

"She's not a slag!" I stomp across the room toward her, and Bellatrix clucks her tongue, laughing.

"You're far too easy to get to, Harry." She lounges on the same chair she created last night, smoking another cigarette. I take deep breathes, calming myself, or at least trying to.

"Besides, I've found 'revenge-fucks' are quite nice, really. She is my niece, after all, so I imagine it was quite releasing to be able to 'get back at me', as it were."

I clench my jaw and wonder how my life had ever ended up like this. "Go fuck yourself."

"Yes, as you just did, figuratively, I feel I do deserve a turn as well."

I growl and clench my fists, one after the other, over and over. "Stop. Not tonight."

Bellatrix leans forward, and grabs me by the wrist. "Yes tonight. Yes, every night, until you accept what must be and become what you will. Your emotions make you weak! Your anger is a misdirected jumble, not the asset it should be. Right now, you're feeling guilty for having slept with someone, for having 'used' her." I stare back, unnerved as she had pegged exactly what I was thinking. "It's rather disappointing you need this explained to you, Harry. Nymphadora used you, just as much, more even. You wrack yourself with guilt over fornicating, of all things. How will you cope when it's blood on your hands? You view those around you with empathy and pity. You view the entire world like an optimist, like a child. These are emotions that will get you killed." She tightens her grip on me and goes on. "How will you fight my Lord, when He could crush your spirit by simply killing the Weasley boy?"

I pull back and try to find her point. "What do you mean?"

She takes a long drag from her cigarette and exhales, leaving it dangling from her lips. "How would you respond if Granger were captured? Tortured, raped, and killed?" Her question is rhetorical as she obviously doesn't expect a reply. "You would crawl into a shell, defeated and broken. You need to become detached. I will tell you with all the certainty in the world, your friends and loved ones will die in this war. Many of them. Perhaps not all, if you are lucky. How are you prepared to deal with that?"

I slump my shoulders, not wanting to concede she has a point, to accept that such a thing will be expected of me in the future. "You make it sound like I should be a machine. Have no emotions. I don't think I can ever be that cold."

"I say nothing of the sort, but only this: if you mean to become the sort of man who can defeat my Lord, you must not let Him press the greatest advantage He has. My Lord cares for no one, nothing, besides Himself. You care for many. He will seek to break you by tearing down all that you love, it is His way. When, and not if, He does, you must use it to your favor. Use the rage and the anger that it elicits in you, revisit the wounds my Lord inflicts upon you a thousand times over and use it against Him."

*****************************

The next few days are a blur, and I'm becoming numb to the guilt I've been feeling. It's by no means gone, but I just don't think I have it in me to feel anything so acutely anymore. I settle back into the routine I had begun to develop this summer; I jog in the mornings, chat and get advice from Moody, work out with Tonks in the afternoon (which, briefly, had been awkward, but we both are pretending valiantly that the other day never happened), studying and practicing what I can in the evenings.

A blessing from the higher powers: the Dursleys continue to ignore me. I might never invite them to my wedding or over for Easter dinner, but I'm beginning to tolerate them.

In the evenings, Bellatrix continues to 'train' me. I use that term loosely, as it feels more akin to her stripping me of my humanity, bit by bit. Last night was particularly 'wonderful', in that she brought a boggart and sat impassively as I listened to my parent's death over and over again, for hours. I asked her, feeling vindictive, what she heard when Dementors were near to which she blithely replied 'Nothing'.

Over the next few days, I attempt to assuage the thing I once called my 'conscious', which I'm sure is fading fast. I try to find various ways in which to prove to myself Bellatrix's loyalties, and I think I've come up with a few, at least. It isn't the only reason I'm doing this, but I justify it all to myself better when I consider it tactics, than an attempt to get some petty revenge against her.

First, while she is away after being summoned by Voldemort, I doctor a letter from Ron. In it, I write as if he's informing me of a time and date he and his family will be at Diagon Alley. Before 'training' that night, I make sure she returns as I'm reading it and I then hide and secure it. If the letter is disturbed, at all, I'll know whether or not she plans on using me for information to give to Voldemort.

Besides that, I conspire with Dung to pull a repeat of last summer. He's more than willing to show up to guard duty pissed out of his gourd, and to then stumble off and apparate away. Of course, Moody is there the whole time, hidden. Neither of them is sure of why I'm doing this, but Dung doesn't care so long as I pay him and I know that Moody has an unhealthy respect for anyone who displays paranoia on the level that he does. Bella does nothing during this window of opportunity, and I know she's watching me in raven form.

Of course, all of this explodes in my face when one night Bellatrix jovially informs me that she knew exactly what I had been doing and my reasons behind it, saying she finds 'my timid, baby fawn standing up for the first time, manner of deception endearing'. By now, understanding some of her mannerisms, I know that somewhere in there she meant to convey a grain of respect, but I strain to actually find it.

At the moment, I'm in the Little Whinging's park, attempting desperately to hide myself from the world and more than that, my thoughts. I know Dung is somewhere nearby, as I can smell the tobacco. More unsettling is the fact I'm just as sure Bellatrix is around as well, watching in her raven form.

I keep thinking over and over about my actions and my motivations. One might say I'm obsessing a bit, but I feel as if I'm allowed this indulgence. Dumbledore, after that clusterfuck of a night at the Ministry, tried to beat a few things into my skull with all the subtlety of a lobotomy. He insisted that when Voldemort tried to possess me, he was driven off by the love I felt for my friends, my surrogate 'family'.

As Bellatrix so lovingly reminded me the other night, though this may be in Dumbledore's eyes my greatest strength, to Voldemort it is my ultimate weakness. The whole thing is such a bloody double edged sword, it borders on ridiculousness. I would fight, die, and sacrifice myself for my friends. If any more of them die for me, however, at this point I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be worth it to me anymore.

I try to meditate on it, to truly find answers. They're hiding pretty fucking well. I guess the true heart of the matter is I need to find my reason to fight and win this war. Fighting for my friends isn't enough. Ideals are weaknesses that will be used against me and used as forms as torture by Voldemort, as they already have been to devastating effect. Revenge only takes me so far and bravery is a liability.

There's an answer out there, somewhere, but I'll be buggered if I can find it.

*****************************

Tonight, Bellatrix sits and grills me on the D.A., a hypothetical exercise in how I would actually use them in combat. Or at least, somewhat hypothetical: I realize to my horror after a while that she fully expects me to use them in the war in the future, as 'my' army.

"And whom among them do you trust?"

"All of them."

She flicks her almost-constant cigarette contemptuously in my direction, ash settling on my bedspread. "A fool's answer. You trust no one. They are all betrayers, waiting for their silver. The only ones among them whom you may be able to rely on to any degree are those who fought with you earlier this month; they have proved they will go into battle, and risk their lives for you. What's more, they feel as though they have seen true 'battle' at your side, which is false, but it still endears them further to you as their commander and to your cause."

"My lieutenants, then." I reply, using a term she was fond of using when describing the rank and file of the Death Eaters.

Her snort of disdain clues me to her opinion of that. "Spare me your sentimental notions, Harry. They are children, unprepared and ignorant of the real world that awaits. Do not forget I was there that night, I saw into their hearts as only flirting with Death may allow you to do. They are nothing."

Her unending renouncing of all my opinions tires me. I rub my temples. "Who would you 'rely on', then. Who can help me?"

Bellatrix mulls this over for a while and lets out a smoke ring before replying. "Longbottom, for one. He thirsts for revenge, and you can use that and set him upon your enemies. Were I not on your side, and you tasked him with killing me, he would perish, but there is a possibility he would succeed before doing so. Never underestimate revenge and rage, Harry, I never do. The youngest Weasley, she pines for you and entertains the notion you are her fairy tale prince. She would lay her life down for you gladly in an instant. Granger and the male Weasley, they are too unreliable and unpredictable. They feel as if they have a claim on your affections, and a right in your life and decisions. They will fight, but suffer the delusion of being your equals and chafe under your command."

"I asked you how they can help me, not how to use them like lambs to the slaughter!"

"There's no difference, Harry." I bang my fist against the wall and she looks at me coolly.

"There bloody well is! These are my friends, not tools for me to use!"

"Whom do you intend to fight this war with Harry? Whom do you have?" She leans in close. "The Order are Dumbledore's lapdogs, many of whom are worthless and will do nothing to serve your cause. A precious few, you may subvert, those intelligent enough to see who the true leader of this war will be. These, you will draw under your own banner rather than his. Whom else will you turn to? You will require soldiers."

I sigh and consider my playing Devil's Advocate with a devil. "Fine, then. Who isn't 'nothing'? Whose worth a damn, on my side?"

She leers. "Me. There is no one else."

"Lovely."

"This is your task in the coming months, Harry. This is exactly what you need to be doing. You will make those who may be worthy of fighting alongside you and I against my Lord 'worth a damn', as you say."

"And how, exactly, am I meant to be able to do that." Bellatrix sighs, and looks disappointed and like she has to explain something like physics to a toddler. It's another look I'm becoming familiar with.

"Because you are the 'hero', Harry, or so these fools believe. They will do it because you command, and those who fail will die by my Lord's hand." She leans back.

"And what of the rest, then? The rest of the D.A."

"They? They will become your cannon fodder." I grumble a bit and wonder for the thousandth time how I'm having a conversation like this. "How would you have me respond, Harry? That all those who will put their trust in you, as their commander, will survive? That any of them, besides a precious few, have the ability to become more than footsoldiers? I will not lie to you nor shelter you from reality." I snort at that but let it slide for the moment.

"It's hard to accept that I'll be playing with peoples lives. Holding them in my hands."

"Perhaps. Do you find no comfort in that which motivates your Headmaster? 'The Greater Good'? Many will die, yes, but even more will be 'saved' by your actions."

"There's a difference between participating in a war where many will die, and ordering people to their deaths! Not just people, but children!"

"The only difference is in your mind, Harry. Would it not be better for their deaths, which are a foregone conclusion, to have a 'higher purpose', to mean something in this struggle you will find yourself in?" Not surprisingly, I take no comfort in that thought. Bellatrix sees this and rolls her eyes. "You place no import upon your own life, yet hold those of the nameless masses to all be precious. There is a certain honor in that, and I can admire the sentiment. It is foolish, however, to be sitting here, whining like a petulant child over the fact that you cannot shoulder the burden completely, and shield all others from consequences. That is what troubles you, no?"

I concede her point.

"Do you wish to be a martyr, Harry? Do not answer that, because in your heart, I know you would gladly accept that mantle. Perishing, and being the 'saviour' as you do. It would be a futile gesture. Your death might accomplish my Lord's death, but nothing else. You must come to terms with the fact that this war and its consequences are unavoidable.

"Tomorrow, I pause and temporarily sacrifice the 'joy' of teaching you a warrior's philosophy and instead we turn to the practical."

"Practical? I'm still underage, I can't practice magic."

Bellatrix scoffs. "I'm fairly certain that you recently slept with my niece, an Auror, an act which is illegal. Blackmail her into subverting the Ministry's monitoring of you."

I sit back like I got slapped. "I can't do that to Tonks."

"Consider it a lesson."

*****************************

A/N: I thank you all who've read this so far and reviewed. I have a good deal of this story done, which is why I'm publishing a third chapter in one day. I didn't know if people would like it, or even read it, so there you go. Reviews appreciated and welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Death Comes Ripping

Sometime in the afternoon the next day, I wake up in Tonks' bed, her arms wrapped firmly around me and her breasts pressing against my shoulder in her sleep. This is not exactly what I set out to do, and I wonder what I had done wrong.

Bellatrix tasked me with 'blackmailing' Tonks, and I'm ashamed to say, I briefly considered going through with it. I felt like scum for even entertaining the thought, but I do see the point in what Bellatrix is teaching me. Voldemort uses far worse than simple coercion, and betrays those who would foolishly consider him an ally in the blink of an eye. Perhaps I truly do need to learn to fight fire with fire.

However, I couldn't bring myself to do it to Tonks of all people, the sweetheart who I lost my virginity to only days before. Instead, I took her out to lunch and set about giving her a heartfelt plea asking her to help me stop the Ministry's monitoring my magic use, as I need to train and learn how to fight Voldemort. This turns to a rather depressing litany by her on how unfair it is I have to go through all this, unfair that I'm even in the position. I mean, I do agree with her, but I've gotten somewhat used to it. After long, she starts flat out bawling and we end up back here, how that happened I don't rightly know.

After our first time being what Bellatrix still playfully calls "revenge-sex", and this time being firmly in the realm of 'comfort-sex' (me doing the comforting), I wonder what other forms of sex she and I can possibly cycle through, and whether or not I'd ever experience simple, honest-to-goodness shagging.

She agreed, of course, to help me and says she will do what she has to to take off the Ministry's monitor spells during her shift this evening. I'm pleased that I managed to do this without blackmailing her and threatening her job and freedom. I can hear Bellatrix already, mocking what she'd call my 'soft methods', but at least they yielded results, eh?

With an exagerrated snort I can only describe as adorable, she rolls over. Her face cycles through a few various basic forms and her hair attempts to go through every color you can find in a bag of Skittles. Glancing at my watch, I can tell its about time that my bedmate here needs to get back to switch guarding shifts on Privet Drive. For some reason, I really don't want to wake her. On the other hand, she was my 'ride' here, so to speak, so I'm stranded if I don't.

I wonder what it is, exactly, we are. Or more to the point, what it is Tonks thinks we are. I'd like to think that at this point I can call her a friend. Is she my girlfriend? I sincerely doubt that, or that she ever would be. There's just far too much baggage, on both sides, for that to ever happen. 'Lover', perhaps, is more accurate, but that sort of implies a committment that I don't think she wants. Do people even do that? Friends who occasionally shag, but aren't emotionally attached?

It's really pathetic how inexperienced I am, with anything pertaining to the opposite sex. I've had exactly one girlfriend, but truth be told, I don't really think that counts. We kissed once, and our entire 'relationship', she was hung up on another guy. A real turn on, I assure you. I try to my imagine myself in this situation only a year ago, how I'd react. To put it bluntly, I would have flipped the fuck out.

Who exactly am I turning into?

The minutes keep ticking away, and I shake Tonks awake, showing her what time it is. After some rushed dressing on both our parts, we share a few awkward pecks and she side-alongs me back to the Dursleys.

*****************************

Bellatrix and I empty my room of furniture, temporarily vanishing them, later that evening. I take particular joy in doing so, as Tonks succeeded earlier in the day in removing the monitoring spells on me. I don't know what that entails, besides that she fiddled with my wand for a few minutes at her flat (my actual wand, no innuendo meant) and then was set to do something later when she went to the Ministry.

"I admit, Harry, that I am somewhat pleased that you actually succeded in blackmailing Nymphadora. I was almost sure you wouldn't go through with it."

I transfigure my desk into a tiny block of wood, a simple spell as I'm not changing composition but size, but something I'm keen on practicing to build my skills for the future. I shake my head and feel proud of myself as I answer Bellatrix. "I didn't blackmail her. She did it anyway."

Bellatrix leans up against my wall and seems content in having me do the rest of the work. "Oh? And how did you acheive that, I wonder? I imagine you gave her a speech, about how it was necessary for the greater good. You and she probably ended up rutting one another later. Am I correct?" I stop, dumbfounded, and she laughs with more mirth than I'd ever heard from her. "Harry, what did you think I meant when I told you to blackmail her? You did exactly what I expected, and hoped, you would."

I turn to her and wonder if she's turning into Dumbledore, with his patented 'oh, you did exactly as I expected you to, in fact that's what I meant to happen all along' routine.

"And what does that mean?"

"You did blackmail her, Harry. You used her emotions, her sense of 'nobility', and her lust for you. Not only that, but you made her feel good about her part in the whole affair, didn't you?" I nod slowly, getting slightly sick as I catch on to her implications. "You manipulated her wonderfully, Harry. Good show."

"Enough of that, Bellatrix. Let's do what we intended tonight."

She smiles, which only pisses me off further. "It warms my heart to see that bloodlust, Harry. You have no stomach for the subtler arts of warfare, the sticky 'human element', but feel no guilt when you contemplate attacking and killing my brethren. Why is that?" She cocks her head to one side. "Righteous anger, I suppose?"

I sigh, and figure it was too much to hope for to avoid tonight any discussion on my 'warrior's philosophy', as Bellatrix keeps calling it.

"They deserve it. They are murderers, torturerers and rapists."

"Indeed. Have you heard of Hitler, Harry? You're practically a muggleborn, after all." I give a nod, wondering where she's going with this. "Hitler was what the sheep love to call 'true evil'. He was a mass murderer, the likes of which the wizarding world has never rivalled. The allied nations, they were just and good in waging war on him and his peoples, no?"

"Of course. Hitler started the war. He was committing genocide."

"Mm, such a lovely word. I've always loved it. Genocide..." She says it in such a manner that I wonder if these are the 'sweet nothings' Bellatrix whispers in her husband's ear when they shag. "I digress. His soldiers then, they all deserved to die? The barely pubescent boys of Germany, many of whom did not share his 'evil' ideology? And the allies were good? I'll clue you in on something, Harry, every army that has ever existed, whether perceived in hindsight by history to be the forces of 'good' or 'evil', has raped and pillaged and slaughtered. To the victor goes the spoils, no? Let's forget that, even. Did the Allies not, for example, create and wield the atomic bomb, the single greatest harbinger of death the muggles have achieved, capable of bringing about Armageddon itself?

'He started it', you say. Schoolboy sentiments. Yes, Voldemort started this war, and yes, He is 'true evil'. My Lord has many servants who have been coerced into His service, who do not rejoice in death and torture as His upper echelon do. Look at Peter Pettigrew. You seem to feel completely justified in your hatred of him, yet he did not take joy in your parent's betrayal, did he? He did not do it for personal gain, or because he decided to, even. He did it out of fear. He was weak, and my Lord used him. He deserves to die, then? Those not strong enough are worthless and deserve death? You know, Harry, that's rather similar to my Lord's views."

She lights a cigarette, a Marlboro Red and takes a few loving drags off it before continuing.

"How much of Peter's blame rests squarely upon his shoulders, I wonder? Where were his friends, those with whom he swore to always support one another, to the death? Was he not repeatedly cast to the side, less worthy than the other three, these supposed paragons of virtue? These are the types of men and women whom you feel you are justified in judging, alongside those who truly deserve judgment. These are the people from whom you will slake that bloodlust I see in you."

I run my hand through my hair, and am disturbed to find it shaking a little bit. Bellatrix seems to make sport of shaking every truth I hold dear to its foundation. "You're saying I shouldn't kill these people, then. The enemies who aren't true believers, or truly evil people."

The dark look that flashes across her face is another warning sign I've grown used to, which says that I'm wrong and not only that, my answer is in fact offensive. "No! Of course not. I say this only to point out the backward and hypocritical ideals you cling to. There is no morality, good, or evil. Humanity merely is.

You will slay them along with the rest. They are sheep who allow themselves to be used by any man strong enough to bend them to his will, as my Lord is. Pushed to murder and betrayal by a mere whisper in their ear."

"It sounds as if you're saying they're like the people who believe I'm Merlin one day and Satan the next, depending on what the Prophet printed in its last edition."

She gives me a predatory smile. "You're learning, Harry! Of course there's no difference. Tonight, we train. Tomorrow, you shall view real battle, so we may dispell these juvenile ideas you have constructed on what that entails."

"What do you mean by that?"

"From Snape, the Order has learned of a target my brethren will dispatch tomorrow. It is Amelia Bones. Fudge's political position is weakening swiftly, and she is a possible candidate for replacement. My Lord arranged for the attack to be known to the Order, as He wishes to bloody a number of new recruits who have entered His service."

"I'll fight them, then?"

She smirks, highly amused by my reply. "Truly, Harry, you believe yourself ready? You would struggle to kill my nephew in battle, let alone stand a chance against my brethren. No, I will accompany you under your invisibilty cloak and we will be mere observers." With no further warning, she casts the Cruciatus on me, leaving me writhing and screaming in agony on my floor. I have no ability to guage how long she leaves it on, and after an eternity, she ends it. She regards my look of betrayal and hatred with curiosity.

"What did you think we were going to do? Duel? I am teaching you to be a warrior, to kill, not be a sideshow entertainment. Now, on your feet. This is the first curse I would have you master."

I struggle to my feet, not wanting to give her the pleasure of seeing how much effect her Crucio has on me, and laugh. "And I'm going to practice it on you, I suppose?"

"Of course."

*****************************

I wake up the next morning and, despite the screaming protest I receive from what I reckon is every bone in my body, feel pretty good. Bellatrix, insane cunt that she is, was not joking in the least when she said I was to practice the torture curse on her. It was extremely vindicating, let me tell you. Of course, besides a few grunts of pain, she never yelled out. Bitch.

Today, as she informed me last night, we're meant to go to a battle that will take place between the Order and the Death Eaters early this afternoon. This does make sense, as I was told yesterday my 'minders' today would be Dung, Mrs. Figg and Dedalus Diggle. Dumbledore isn't an idiot, and I'm sure he has Moody and Tonks tapped for this fight.

She gave me no ideas as to how we would slip away unnoticed from the Dursleys, but in all honesty, that's hardly a difficulty. I already plan to take my morning jog, speak briefly with Dung, feign sickness and say I'll be spending the rest of the day in bed. With the wards Bellatrix has put in place, no one will notice I'm not actually in my room, and we can get away without much hassle.

I have mixed feelings about going to watch this battle. Bellatrix had made it perfectly clear that I will by no means join this fight. She and I will 'observe and interpret' only. The 'me' of a few months ago would rage against that idea and never go along with it, and even now I'm finding it pretty hard. I already can suss out that Tonks and Moody will be there, who else that I care about will show up? One of the Weasleys? McGonagall or Hagrid? The idea of watching these people put their lives at risk, and having no ability to help at all makes me sick to my stomach.

Then again, I made an oath to myself that I would do whatever it took to become a warrior, to become what I need to be to end this god-forsaken fucking war. Bellatrix is a snake, the embodiment of much of what I loathe in the world and completely untrustworthy. At the same time, she is exactly what I need, and I am sure if I follow her tutelage, I will become a killer, a warrior. Whether I lose all my humanity in the process is up for bets. I give it even odds.

With these cuddly and heart-warming thoughts running amok in my brain, I go about my morning routines and set about deceiving Dung, which is rather akin to pulling one over on a toddler. For added realism, I choke down one of the Twins' skiving snackboxes and vomit all over his dragon hide boots before staggering inside #4. Dung wasn't amused.

Bellatrix is there waiting when I return and she side-alongs me to Amelia Bones' residence outside of Kent. We appear a good mile away from where the action will shortly take place. Bellatrix signals to me to put on my invisibility cloak, and she transforms into her raven form to fit under it with me. It's disconcerting to have her perched on my shoulder.

I walk as silently as I can to the outskirts of the Bones property, as Bellatrix had instructed. She nips my ear as we near a copse of trees, and I take that to mean I should stop. She flutters off my shoulder, retransforms under cover of the treeline and quickly disillusions herself. She grabs my hand and we walk closer, to better see the action. We find an acceptable hiding spot behind the hedges that hug Madame Bones' cottage and wait.

Tonks is here, morphed into a continental-looking brunette, with sallow skin and appearing maybe in her mid thirties. She's smoking a cigarette and leaning idly against a short brick wall down by the street's sidewalk, trying to look like a tourist going out for a stroll. She looks really pretty; I get a renewed stab of apprehension about being here and watching this. From his rattling and wheezing breaths, I can tell Moody is here under either disillusionment charms or an invisibility cloak. McGonagall is in one of the nearby trees as a cat, but I cant tell who, if anyone, else is here.

I feel her hot breath on my ear as Bellatrix gets closer to me to whisper. "They will surely fail. Their numbers are lacking and they shall be outmatched by my brethren. A cadre of ten new recruits, lead by Rookwood, will arrive soon." This entire time, she's still clutching my hand and it's unnerving me. I try to shake free but she doesn't let go.

As Tonks takes her time smoking her fag and making a show of looking off at the horizon, we can hear her whisper to Moody and whomever else may be here. "Do you think this was bad intel, Alastor? It was from Snape, after all."

A short grunt and some muffled shuffling. "No, Tonks. Dumbledore is sure of it. They'll be here, alright."

Bellatrix gets close again and makes a quiet scoffing noise. "Yet note, Harry, that Dumbledore himself is not here? Notice that two of his oldest and dearest friends, McGonagall and Moody, have been ordered to fight here today. Do you think your Headmaster feels guilty, as you would, in sending these people to possible death?"

I try to ignore her and focus on settling down my almost mutinous nerves. We, and the Order members, sit in silence for endless minutes, until some soft pops in the distance make all of us stiffen.

"Wands at the ready, and don't forget the objective! Weasley, Tonks, make sure they don't get to Bones! The rest of you lot watch their backs and remember Snape said an Inner Circle member is supposed to be here!" Moody growls, wand in hand and artificed eye twirling. I hear movement and the tension's as thick as Madame Maxime's backside.

The pops of the Death Eater's apparition was closeby, but no one has appeared yet. Just as I think that, I see a flash of dark blue from the right and Charlie Weasley, who had popped into view and gone to cover Bones' door, goes down hard.

Like a signal for all hell to break loose, the battle begins. Someone, I assume Moody, is concentrating spellfire from where the dark blue curse came, heavy hitters like Ossiobruo which shatters bone like a muggle hollow-point bullet, causing massive tissue disruption and Sangre Ferveo, a flaying curse that simultaneously burns the flesh. The others not trying to protect the Bones' home directly follow his lead. This is meant to be a power sink, to drain heavily any shield charms or defensive wards they Death Eaters may have in place.

Transformed back into a human, but still in her tree perch, McGonagall is trying to cover the rest of the order. She casts a Reducto at the stone wall where Tonks had been lounging previously and then does some complex incantations I can't follow. The results are obvious, though, as the shrapel of the wall transfigure into a human-sized Golem. McGonagall abandons any other spells and concentrates on shielding and controlling the Golem, which she uses to deflect any Unforgivables or high powered spells the Order's shields cant stop. It takes hits and massive chunks of it crumble away, but doesn't falter at all.

After barely thirty seconds of fighting, both the Order and the Death Eater's disillusionment charms wear off, the fight too draining to be able to maintain them. The Death Eaters are scattered, what would roughly be half a block's distance to the cottage's right, in the outskirts of the woods that surround Madame Bones' cottage. They are raining curses down on the Order, who are for the most part gathered behind McGonagall's Golem in the center of the yard. Weaker spells dissipate in the air above them and I recognize that it's caused by several Hogwarts Ancient Runes level protective wards, one considered weak and useless for its small range of cover but they're using them like bunkers, to hide behind and shoot from in between the ward gaps.

Augustus Rookwood stands separated from the other Death Eaters, standing maskless in the open. He deflects any attacks against him with a dancer's grace, his pockmarked face barely showing any effort exerted. The ex-Unspeakable shouts an incantation Bellatrix and I cant hear, which makes the lawn under McGonagall's Golem bubble and crawl up it, like water sliding off in reverse. It shrinks and quickly merges into the rest of the earth, the lawn reverting to what it had been before whatever Rookwood did.

"Elemental magics. McGonagall's Golem was mere animated rubble. Rookwood had the earth reclaim that which was its own." Bellatrix's voice whispers into my ear, and I can hear and feel the excitement she has, watching this fight rage.

Several Death Eaters have gone down, and all the Order is still intact. Charlie Weasley, who had taken the first hit, is back on his feet and fighting to restrain Madame Bones with Tonks. The old lass clearly wants to fight and shakes off the two, joining the fray and roaring at the Death Eaters who have come to assassinate her. She whirls around, and for a moment I think she's pointing her wand at Bellatrix and I, but she instead sets fire to a hedge several feet to our left with an Incendio. With Aevum Canis, several burning, plant-like dogs set off to the woods, snapping at the Death Eaters.

Bellatrix clucks in an amused tone. "Animation, but allowing the basic composition to remain. She's skilled. My Lord is wise to seek her removal."

A few Death Eaters douse some of the fiery animals, but one latches onto the throat of a recruit who separated himself and along with the splatter of blood and his screams, I can smell his burning flesh.

"That was Haverford. He was a Ravenclaw three years above you. My Lord pressed him into His service by kidnapping his newborn son." She's telling me this to fuck with my head, and it's working. I growl and try once more to get my hand out of her grasp, but she tuts in annoyed fashion and presses her wand into my side, to 'remind' me to behave.

By now, any plan and strategy the Order may have had are completely abandoned. Bones, who they're here to protect, is in the melee and they're all scrambling to cover her. I see Tonks trying to be a human shield, placing herself between Bones and the enemy fire.

"Their advantage is waning. My brethren are here only to kill Bones, and now they must fight and defend at the same time. Their loss is assured." I clench my jaw and hope desperately that Bellatrix is wrong.

Rookwood has inched closer, and I see Navitas Terra hit the Order's shield wards and collapse them. It's a derivitive charm of the shield family and meant to douse an area with energy, and it overloaded the wards. Rookwood is doing something complex and being covered by the Death Eater recruits, but the Order is too distracted and under too heavy fire to do anything that could disrupt him. I see him summon the blood that was pooling around the Death Eater Bones had killed, and it flies through the air, hovering in front of him. Rookwood stabs his wand through the floating blood and rotates it in a full circle, ending with a flick upwards at the end.

With that, the ground in front of him tears apart, a massive, skeletal form shooting out of it. Motley fur covers it in patches, its organs on display through gaping holes where flesh should have been. I have no fucking clue what it is, but I scream out as it appears, the sound swallowed by the battle thats raging. I feel all my hairs stand on end and it shakes, shuddering off chunks of soil that covered it and screeches out a cry. It has what looks like a reptilian tail, massive, pincer-like claws and ram horns on its skeletal head.

Moody and McGonagall immediately concentrate fire on it, Moody using a hex, Percictum, a bolt of energy the Auror's call 'Black Lightning'. McGonagall levitates pinecones down from her perch and morphs them into jackals, compelling them towards Rookwood's beast. It shrugs off Moody's hex like a slap from a child, and eviscerates McGonagall's kitties.

One of the Death Eaters that had been covering Rookwood sends an reverberation curse near where McGonagall is, and she crashes down to the ground, her leg breaking in a snap I can hear all the way across the yard. Tonks stomps forward, sending spells at Rookwood's construct at breathtaking speeds and dodging all the return fire that comes her way with ease. Bones is still behind her, Charlie Weasley close by her side. Rookwood and his two bodyguards are gaining ground, staying behind both the Beast and the covering fire from the remaining Death Eaters. The Beast is stalking forward, the preventative spells of the Order doing little more than slow it.

I see Rookwood take careful aim, and know what's going to happen before it does. The green light of Avada Kedavra, which I know all to well, erupts from the man's wand and lances through the air. Almost all of the Order pause, knowing where it is headed and that they are too clustered for it to not make its mark.

The spell connects with Charlie, and he slumps to the ground, his head turned in my direction so I can see into his lifeless eyes. I yell again, and surge forward without thinking, only to have Bella wrap an arm around my neck and place her wand in the small of my back.

"I'm afraid not, Harry. Since I fear you will not cooperate, I shall force you to." I'm barely listening and her words don't register, but she casts Imperio on me and holds firm with her wand trained at my heart.

I try desperately to break the hold of it, but nothing happens and I stand limp at Bellatrix's side.

I'm aware of Tonks screaming like a madwoman, and the Order lashes back against the Death Eaters, their attacks fiery and powerful, bolstered by having seen one of their number die. Most of the Death Eater recruits retreat, but Rookwood and the two with him stand strong. One of the Order, a witch I recognize as Hestia Jones, separates from the rest and chases after two of the retreating recruits. An Ossiobruo connects with her leg and she collapses in a heap in the middle of the battleground, halfway between the Order and the Death Eaters.

Rookwood's Beast surges forward and heads straight towards Madame Bones. Tonks steps in front of her and one of the Beast's claws slices right through her stomach and comes out, twitching, on the other side.

'Stand here and watch, Harry. Watch as friends die and Dumbledore's forces are thwarted.' Bellatrix commands me in my mind, and I shake and rage and scream silently and can do nothing but comply.

The Beast retracts its claw, causing Tonks to fall heavily to the ground, and I can see her gurgling blood as she coughs. Moody yells and stomps forward, putting himself between her and the Beast, which ignores the both of them and the spells that hit it, going straight for Bones. Madame Bones screams and falls back, but is too slow to aviod the slice that shreds her throat, gushes blood like a geyser and falls dead to the earth.

The Order members still fighting barely flinch, and begin retreating before Bones' body even hits the ground. Someone grabs McGonagall, who had been casting spells from her prone state the entire time, and drags her to a spot several meters away where they all congregate and apparate out.

"They have set cancelling wards, to secure an area where they may bypass my brethren's Anti-Apparition and Portkey wards. Remember always, Harry, to never allow your enemies escape." Bellatrix isn't even bothering to whisper anymore, as the screams of Tonks are drowning out anything she may say. Moody is still with Tonks, separated from the ward-area where the rest of the Order are escaping from. Rookwood, his bodyguards, and the Beast stand between them.

Tonks is dying, but I can hear her shout at Moody to leave in gasps and splutters. Moody doesn't budge and stands tall, facing Rookwood and his minions with his wand drawn.

"Your hero and your lover meet their end, Harry. Drink in this scene, remember every drop of their blood, the pitch and timbre of their every scream." I push my entire will at her Imperius, trying desperately to retreat into my mind. I hope desperately to collapse, to black out, than do as she commands. She sneers and pours more energy into the curse, snapping my body straight ahead and my eyes wide open.

Hestia Jones is still on the ground, yelling out in agony as the remaining Death Eater recruits reach her and decide to play. They cast the Cruciatus repeatedly and begin vanishing away her clothes, a small number of them fighting over which gets to defile her first. Moody's attention is split for only the briefest of moments, before he refocuses on Rookwood and the rest separating him from escape.

Rookwood's Beast is at his side, leering and snapping but not advancing. Rookwood stands haughty, and unless I'm mistaken, highly amused, almost waiting for Moody to dare try evade him and his creation. The other two Death Eaters with him stand mutely, wands drawn and awaiting orders.

Tonks is still yelling to be abandoned. Moody casts Silencio on her, cutting off her pleas. The Beast chooses then to lunge at them, and Moody sidesteps, parrying the Beast's claw with a downward swipe from his wand. He turns to Rookwood, standing watch, and summons of of his bodyguards, who flies through the air and gets impaled, intercepting a death blow from the Beast. Moody turns the man to a block of ice, fusing him onto the Beast's claw and immediately dives to the ground, rolling him and Tonks out of the way of Rookwood and the other Death Eater's killing curses. Mobilizing Tonks with a charm, they move at a snails pace, desperately trying to get to the ward line, Moody having to forgo all attack and shield them both as they go. Rookwood's other bodyguard falls as the Severing charm he casts is deflected by one of Moody's shields and catches him in the throat.

Moody and Tonks are just at the ward line when Rookwood breaks through Moody's shield, hitting him with what I think I hear as Caromorbus. The flesh on the lower half of Moody's left arm immediately necrotizes, and he screams in agony. He falls on top of Tonks, clutching the wounded arm and they apparate away.

"Hm. So they live. Rookwood should have never toyed with Alastor. He is a far too worthy opponent to warrant anything other than execution." Bellatrix is back to whispering, as the quiet that has fallen after the armageddon that raged here only seconds before.

In my mind, she says, 'Follow me and stay under the cloak, and we shall take our leave using your Order's wards. First, though, notice the fallen female. Your Order left her here to die. My brethren shall rape and torture her until she is a shell, then cast away the husk.' We walk towards the wards to disapparate, her words compelling me to watch the Death Eaters torture and fondle a now naked Hestia Jones as we do. Her screams ring in my ears as we disappear.

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A/N: I really want to thank all those who have reviewed. I'm glad you're enjoying what I have posted so far and I hope this new chapter doesn't disappoint. To those who asked about pairings, etc... this wont be a romance story, and the pairings will never be a main focus of the plot. Throughout the story, Harry will be with multiple different women, though I wont mention who. Again, reviews are welcomed and appreciated.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I aplogize for the long break in between updates. I've been unusually busy lately. Everything's good now, though, and you can expect a chapter or two every week now. Thanks again to all who have been reading so far.

Chapter Five: Everything Goes Numb

I feel vomit in the back of my throat and adrenaline slowly bleeding out of me with each beat of my heart. I've never done a drug, but from what I've heard of them in primary school, this is what I'd imagine someone might feel after coming down off one. Bellatrix's Imperius curse has just left me, and while under it I felt violated, dirty, used, sick, as much as I don't want to say it, euphoric. Total loss of control is a dangerously enjoyable thing.

The bitch herself is watching me coolly, sitting down on my bed and seems content in letting me collect myself. She's smoking one of her Marlboros and shuddering a little bit. I'd enjoy that if I didn't know it was just her getting off on her own adrenaline, rather than her being shaken by what we had just witnessed.

It's hard to piece together what exactly did happen. I was aware, but having been under Bellatrix's will, a lot of the battle we just returned from is disjointed in my mind. It's like, I know I just watched Charlie Weasley die. I know I watched Tonks get impaled and her and Moody barely escaping their own deaths. I know that wherever Hestia Jones is right now, she'd be better off dead, and Merlin have mercy on her. The problem is I can't really process these facts and I feel detached, numb even.

My breath is ragged and I feel lost. I don't know where to start, and it's like a hundred emotions are waging war in me, massacring one another and the sum result is apathy. I should be grieving, raging, crying, fighting, but I'm feeling so much that I can't feel at all and just...am. I rip the cigarette out of Bellatrix's hand and take a drag off it, ignoring my lungs, which feel the need to hack endlessly as I do. Bellatrix looks amused and lights another. I can tell she wont be saying anything and is waiting for me to react.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" The tone of my voice seems foreign even to me. I don't sound accusing, or betrayed, or even angry. I wasn't even planning on asking that question and am a bit confused as to how it popped into the forefront of my mind.

"Of course I did."

I just sit and stare out my window, and feel nothing. Nothing.

"And what did you...feel, Harry? What are your thoughts on what you saw?"

I click my tongue and exhale another puff of smoke. The nicotine makes me feel dirty and weak and comforted all at the same time. Bellatrix seems almost anxious for my reply, almost truly curious. "I could say you're an insane, uncaring, sociopathic cunt, but you and I both know that already. I could say I feel like I died some inside, but you wouldn't care, and I'll join Voldemort," I pause, waiting vindictively for her hiss and shudder, but forgetting that Bellatrix doesn't react when I say that name, "before I ever looked for sympathy or comfort from you. I saw that I'm not ready. I saw that the Order will lose this war. I saw the best and only defense Dumbledore can muster against your... brethren... and saw them fail."

Bellatrix nods, almost revelling in my response. I can see the true pleasure in her face. "You're learning, Harry. Do not forget, also, that the level of power you saw today was a mere fraction of my Lord's might."

I shrug again. Her words, I've no doubt, were meant to enrage me but I have no desire to her that pleasure. "I saw something else, Bellatrix." She cocks an eyebrow and tilts her head to the side, as detatched and cold as I feel right now. "You need me. I realized, Bella." I savor the look on her face. It's the first time I've ever called her that, without saying it as an insult, and I can tell it unnerves her. She's unsure and maybe a little wary, and I love it. "I realized you are a follower. You're weak. You are a narcisstic, power-hungry weakling." I emphasise each word and despite her best efforts I can tell I'm pissing her off. "You're a leech, a parasite that would latch on to whomever has the most power. Perhaps I need your help to train, or to win this war. But you," I'm really getting into it and her eyes flash in a way I haven't seen since our first encounter this summer, "you would be nothing without me, just as you'd be nothing without your Lord. Never forget that, Bella. You cast the Imperius on me and had me under your will. I was weak, and you were in my head. You intimidated me. That will never happen again." She's impassive as I say that and so am I. We both realize the truth in my words. "You see me as a stepping stone, someone you're going to manipulate. You want to make of the most of me, after I kill your Lord."

At this point, I can tell she's enthralled, almost trance-like. Then again, I know she has issues and it's not surprising that a show of power gets her off. She speaks, finally. "I don't deny it. Do you expect remorse, guilt perhaps?"

"Of course not. But know this, Bella. You are my tool. Not the other way around. Never that." I pause and am a little thrown off when I see not anger on her face, but something that resembles a victorious look instead.

"I chose well in swearing my allegiance to you, Harry." I just nod and try not to display the revulsion I feel in hearing her say that.

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It's midnight the next day, and I'm a nervous ball of energy, rocking back and forth on the edge of my bed. I couldn't sleep if I tried. Me and insomnia are old mates by this point, on a definite first name basis. I twirl my wand in my fingers, taking a break in between some Transfiguration practice I had been doing. I've been taking full advantage of the ward-zone Bella has constructed in my room, masking my underage magic signature, but it isn't enough. It's never enough. I'm the fucking saviour, right? And here I am, reduced to clandestine, illegal practice rather than actually being trained. By Dumbledore, by the Ministry, by the Unspeakables, whatever... I guess it would just be too goddamned logical for that to actually happen.

"Impotence doesn't look well on you, Harry. You're far too alpha-male," I don't react and give Bella the pleasure of seeing me jump. Truth is, I saw her there in the corner for the past minute or so. I'm sure she thought herself well shrouded with her Disilussionment charm and the shadows, but I've a sixth sense at detecting danger I suppose. A handy, if a bit creepy, natural skill to possess.

"I thought your Lord summoned you, Bella. Shouldn't you be on your knees somewhere, servicing the sick fuck you call your liege? Or is that why you brought up impotence, Tommy can't get it up anymore?"

She tuts a few times and steps into the pale moonlight streaming onto my floor thru the window. With the way the light hits her, I see that she has yet to lose the last vestiges Azkaban has had on her, her eyes still sunken, her form still weak and underfed. "Oh, my Harry. You really can't pull off those sorts of remarks. You don't possess the necessary vitriol."

I roll my eyes, already bored with her presence. As she shifts I note with pleasure that I can still see a knotty little twist in her nose. Bella and I were duelling yesterday, when I surprised her and hauled off with a hook to her face. The crunch of me breaking her nose is most definitely the next memory I'll use for my Patronus. I took extra pleasure in watching her try (and fail for a good few minutes) to properly pronounce 'Episkey' while spluttering blood everywhere. She let me have it after that, but it was still worth it.

"Say what you came to say, or leave me alone. I'm in no mood for playing tonight, Bella, unless you decided you have more bones that need breaking."

Her eyes narrow momentarily before a would-be innocent smile crosses her face. "Why, Harry, I'm here to service you of course." I give a pathetic little half-cough, half-yelp and drop my wand as Bellatrix cackles. "You're in need of assistance, and I graciously offer you mine." She waits for a response, and I try to salvage my dignity with what I hope is a cool raise of the eyebrow. "As I said, you are feeling impotent tonight, yes? I felt your pent up rage yesterday, as my nose can heartily attest. You are a doer, Harry, not one content with sitting on the sidelines."

"I'm going to assume this is going somewhere."

"So impatient... what I'm saying is that I will help you with that. You wish to do something. You may, tonight."

"Another romp by your side to some battle, to watch from the shadows, Bella? That's not really what I had in mind."

"No, there are no altercations tonight that I'm aware of... save the one I've no doubt you will cause yourself."

She's definitely got me confused at this point, and I lean back and spread my arms behind me. "Have you forgotten Bella? Unless you want the Ministry sniffing around here, I can't perform any magic outside of this room."

"That was true, yes." She tosses me two items, a pack of gum and a small, smooth looking stone. "But I grow tired of watching you stumble on these baby steps I have tasked you with. Perhaps it will be better simply tossing you in the deep end, hm? The stone is a nullifier. Swallow it, and it will mask your magical signature for twenty four hours. You'll be able to cast with impunity, the Unforgivables included."

I mull this over, trying to figure out what kind of game Bella is playing now. "And the gum? A portkey, I assume?"

She nods. "To Grimmauld Place. I trust in your preternatural abilities to summon trouble. This fight I can tell you seek will find you. I've informed you of a few of my brethren's strongholds during our training sessions. I'm sure you could find your way to them, if you so desire."

"And you would permit me this? Aren't you concerned your meal ticket will get in over his head and die, Bella?"

Her smirk is positively Satanic. "If you do, you weren't worth my service anyway, Harry."

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I creep down the Dursley's staircase with my invisibility cloak draped around my shoulders. Gleefully casting my first spell outside of my bedroom, I cast a localised 'Silencio' on my trainers to muffle my footfalls. I slip out the front door and step into the cool July night. I fleetingly realise my birthday is a few days off, and find I don't really care.

The portkey is snugly in my pocket. I could have left straight from my bedroom, but I suppose I needed time to collect myself. As much as I wish I wasn't, I'm nervous. A short croak from overhead, and I know Bella in her raven form has left, to crawl into whatever hovel she crawls into when she's not tormenting me.

I scan the neighborhood for my Order minder. After a few minutes, I finally see a tabby cat curled at the trunk of a tree on the edge of the Dursley's property. My Head of House looks at first as if she's sleeping in her Animagus form, but her sharp eyes are scanning the area. She's slightly favoring her back left paw, licking it lightly. I assume it's the leg she broke the other day. McGonagall being here reminds me of the fact that two of my normal minders, Tonks and Moody are holed up at Headquarters, still recovering from the devastating wounds they took at the battle the other day at Madam Bones'.

I decide to get some practice in, and cast a wandless banisher to my right at Aunt Petunia's rose bushes. They shudder and twist as if a heavy breeze had just come thru. With McGonagall's attention diverted, I clutch the portkey and mutter the passphrase ('Impotence'. Isn't Bella just a fucking riot?).

The portkey yanks me and drops me, face first, on the street outside of the Order Headquarters. I don't know exactly what I plan to do tonight, but I feel the need to go inside. I need to see Moody... to see Tonks.

I stride up to the door and open it as softly as possible, slipping inside and closing it slowly. It's late, almost 2 A.M., so at least no one is milling about. I cinch the cloak tighter around my shoulders and set off to the bedrooms, assuming thats where Tonks and Moody will be set up. After a few minutes of stumbling about, I peek in an open doorway. Tonks is there, looking pale as a ghost and her torso engulfed in bandages. Her hair is a dull brown, in a haphazard halo on her pillow. She looks like death warmed over, and I have to swallow the catch in my breath. I cycle through some of the basic Occlumency exercises Bella has been teaching me to calm myself.

I just stare at her lying there, not even noticing until minutes have passed that I'm not alone in the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt is sitting in the far corner, slumped in an easy chair. He's not sleeping, but his vacant stare at nothing tells me he's not all here right now. I know he has worked with Tonks extensively in both the Auror Corps and the Order, so it's not too surprising he's here right now. I can only imagine how shaken he is that Moody, too, was nearly lost in that battle. I know he practically worships the man, as all Aurors do.

I hover in the doorway, just watching Tonks' breath rise and fall, until I hear footsteps coming from down the hallway. I slip further in the room, leaning up against the wall closest to Tonks' bed. Remus Lupin walks into the room, standing in the same spot I just had been moments ago.

"Shack..." he begins in that soft-spoken way of his. No response. "Shack." Stronger this time, Kingsley looks up. "This isn't healthy, Kingsley. You need to get some sleep."

Kingsley doesn't say anything for a few long beats. His eyes slide from Remus back to Tonks' prone form. "He's going to leave her there, Remus. Leave her to be raped and Merlin knows what else."

Remus lets out a long breath and even in the dim lighting I can see him close his eyes tightly. "I know. I know, Shack, but it's too risky. What would you have Dumbledore do? We're already stretched too thin, too outnumbered. Snape has given us intel on where they've taken Hestia, and it's far too well fortified. A rescue mission would be suicide. You know he suspects a spy, and if we planned an offensive..."

Kinglsey gives a gutteral growl and draws his wand almost instinctively, as if to hex the world for it being so unfair. "Yes, I bloody well know Remus. The greater good, and all that bullshite. Do you think Dumbledore even understands what he asks of us? The sacrifices he would have us make?"

I can see Remus glare, his jaw clench. He pauses before answering. "I would hope so. I've certainly seen more than my share of sacrifice for this war."

Kingsley looks back up at him, his face apologetic. "I'm sorry Remus. I wasn't thinking. It's just... it just all feels so hopeless."

Remus slumps against the side of the doorway. "I know. You... you love her, don't you?"

Kingsley doesn't respond, but the frantic look in his eyes as he looks back at Remus is confirmation enough. The two men just stand there, unmoving, unspeaking for what feels like forever. I'm trying to think how I can slip out unnoticed before Kingsley speaks up again. "I'm going after her."

Remus double-takes. "You cant, Shack. Dumbledore--"

"Bugger Dumbledore, and bugger the thrice-damned Order, Lupin! I wont leave her behind!"

"I don't like it anymore than you do, but we can't--"

Kingsley silences him again by suddenly getting up and brandishing his wand. "I'm going, Remus. Are you going to tell Dumbledore?" Kingsley's deep brown eyes bore into Remus' amber ones. Remus fidgets a bit.

"No."

I'm somewhat impressed that Remus would betray Dumbledore like this. I had assumed he would happily jump thru the veil if Dumbledore had ordered it. The two men share a look, before Remus steps out of the way and Kingsley strides out. I quickly follow. He heads to the front door, opening it and stepping out to get out of the range of the inherent anti-apparition wards of the Fidelius Charm.

Kingsley stops when he reaches the street and seems to stare out at nothing. I pause some meters behind him, using my Occlumency exercises again to try and slow my breathing, so he wont hear me.

"I know you're there, you know."

I nearly bloody well piss myself at that. Kingsley turns around and stares right at me. "How... how could you know I was there?" I turn around quickly to make sure no one else is at the door, before lowering my hood. Kingsley just shoots me a dirty look, which I interpret it as 'Of course I knew you were there, it's my bloody job to know these things'. He steps forward and grips where my forearm would be, and drags me down the street, stopping in an alleyway.

"Now Potter, you're going to tell me right now why you are wondering around downtown bloody London in the middle of a war, compromising Order security, and generally being a stupid prat."

I can feel the blood rush to my face. "You should know as well as anyone, Kingsley. I need to learn to fight! I cant do that holed up like a bloody princess in her tower!"

He rolls his eyes at me. "Yeah yeah, I know all about it. Some prophecy shite, an unfortunate habit of being in the wrong place at the right time. You reckon that entitles you to endanger the lives of the Order, eh? You're certainly self-satisfied, given that you're as safe as you can be while we fight and die. Who is it, supposed to be sentry tonight? McGonagall? What happens if she notices your gone, if the Order sends a search party out to find you?"

I try to keep myself calm. I know he's just angry at seeing his friends near death, but I'm nobody's punching bag anymore and I'm not going to take his shite. "They wont. I'm not stupid, Kingsley."

"You're certainly acting like it. Tell me why I shouldn't drag you right back to Headquarters and have the Headmaster give you a right spanking for being a bad little schoolboy?"

"Because I'm coming with you. We're going to get Hestia."

Shack's eyes narrow. My heart's pounding and I struggle to not flinch under his gaze. I'm almost sure he's bluffing about turning me in, but I don't know the man well enough to predict what he's going to do. "You are, are you? Why, Potter? As far as I know, you barely know Hestia. Do I look like a stupid man, Potter? Bringing you along would be a liability."

I take a deep breath and carefully think over my words. "I...heard what happened the other day. Charlie died, and Tonks and Moody almost did."

"And?"

"And I want to make those bastards pay."

He says nothing for a while, sizing me up. "Dumbledore would have my head on a pike if I let you come with me."

"And he wouldn't if he found out you did this on your own? Listen to me, Shacklebolt. This is as much my fucking war as it is yours. You think I enjoy letting you all fight my battles and take all the risk? You could use another wand with you, and if you don't let me come, I'll just find another way to involve myself in this war. You can't stop that from happening, none of you. You know that."

He turns from me, scanning the London skyline for a long minute. Without turning back to me, he speaks. "You've a second wand, then?"

My heart starts pounding again. I play it cool, not wanting to ruin my chance here. "No, I ate a nullifying stone earlier tonight. I'm masked." Shack finally turns back to me.

"I hope you know the score here, Potter. I'm risking my job and my place in the Order if I do this. If this gets out, I could end in Azkaban for leading the Golden Boy to danger."

"But you're going to do it, aren't you?"

He leans in close and grabs me by the collar. "I am, and I want you to know why. Its no secret that Dumbledore and Voldemort both feel you're going to play a role in this war. I've fought this war and seen friends die, and all for the sake of 'buying time' so you can grow a bloody pair and start doing something. I think that earns me the right to have you prove it to me. Hestia, she's just another pawn for Dumbledore. Another body to stand in the way of a curse meant for you. She's more than that, Potter! She means something. She may not be the Boy-Who-Lived, but she is not fucking fodder and she's not an acceptable loss, not to me. Prove that you're worth it, Potter. Prove that you deserve us fighting and dying for you."

I swallow the lump in my throat and look steadily back at him. "I will."

He releases his grip on me and steps back. Grabbing a discarded beer bottle and its cap, he grips them in separate hands and mutters a long incantation. He hands me the cap and looks straight in my eyes.

"The phrase is 'proof'. This is going to take us to where they have Hestia. It's a cottage the Malfoy family owns outside Ipswich. It's a return key as well, so it'll get us out of there should the need arise. You stay under your cloak, and you follow my lead. I. Cast. First. You never do. You're not to do anything stupid and get yourself killed. Do you follow? What did I just say?"

"I follow your lead. You cast first. I don't die."

He nods, and then motions to the portkey. I grip it, and disappear moments after Kingsley does.

**********************************************************************************

We appear in a deep wooded area. I can barely see three feet in front of me. I sense Kingsley moving somewhere to my left. He whispers the Disillusionment charm and the same charm I used earlier tonight to silence his steps. I renew the same charm myself, and he leans close to me.

"Intel from Snape tells us that Hestia has been moved here. She's in the dungeons underneath the cottage. There's no fixed number of hostiles, but we were told this is a training area for new recruits. Do you know what that means?" He locks eyes with me, his gaze burning. "That means they're training the newbies in torture. In rape. Hestia is a tool for them. She's practice." I curse harshly under my breath and Kingsley nods. "That's right. Still want to do this, Potter? Think you have the stomach for this shite?" I say nothing and take out my wand. "Good. There are two entrances, with sentries at both. We're going through the back. I'll neutralize the guards. You do nothing! We cant announce our presence too soon. Got it?"

After my nod, he starts stalking forward. I hang back, a healthy distance behind him. We move through the woods, and after about a five minute hike, I can see a clearing in front of us. Before we reach the edge of the woods, I can already see the light of the house, and hear some muted conversation from in front of us.

Kingsley snaps his fingers lightly, a signal I take to mean to stop. I crouch low next to a gnarled trunk, and from the light swish of movement I can still hear, I know Kingsley has stepped out to the clearing.

Nothing happens for a long while. I wonder what Kingsley is doing, exactly. Squinting in the darkness, I think there are two Death Eaters standing in the garden behind the house. The one closest to me suddenly falls, stunned, to the ground. His fall is slowed by something, I assume a levitation charm by Kingsley, to mute his crash. The other Death Eater doesn't even stir. I risk it and move forward a bit, edging closer to the garden.

The second Death Eater is twirling his wand, looking supremely bored. I see him take a huge yawn. Before his jaw even closes, his eyes widen in surprise only momentarily before his head completely separates from his neck. It rolls on the ground and stops about five meters from my feet. His eyes are still twitching when it stops.

Kingsley takes off his Disillusionment charm and steps forward, kicking the headless body of the man he just decapitated. "Transfigure this body, Potter, while I do his mate."

I don't even bother to ask how he knew I was there, rather than still back in the woods, and call my will to me, using the meditation trick Bella has taught me to call up my power. I 'Accio' the head and place it on top of the rest of the corpse. The Transfiguration spell I'm using is a standard one, but on a human, it takes more power than it usually would. It wouldn't even work if this bloke was still alive, and since he's still warm, its tricky enough to give me pause. After a few failed attempts, I morph him into a small log of wood. I wonder briefly if Miranda Goshawk ever invisioned this use of the spell when she included it in The Standard Book of Spells: Grade Three.

I turn back to Kingsley, just in time to see him summon the stunned form of the other Death Eater. I hear him mutter "Abeo Vermis", and see the Death Eater change into a common earthworm. Kingsley wastes no time and crushes it under his boot. Turning back to me, he sees my Death Eater turned block of wood and casts a wandless Incendio on it, setting the morphed body ablaze. I'm more than a little awed at the professionalism and ease that he exudes during all this. I'm beginning to see why Bella tells me many of Tommy's minions are afraid of this man.

He does a quick glance around before motioning me to follow him. We creep up to the back door that leads out into the garden before he stops and turns back to me. "We haven't the time or the power to disable the alarm wards, so we're rushing into this, wands ablaze, alright? You stay behind me. They'll come in waves, and we'll bottleneck them. I'm going to paint this fucking house red with their blood. Got it?"

I nod, and he holds out a hand, fingers extended. He does a long count down from five, and when he reaches zero, he stalks forwards and kicks down the door with a heavy boot.

Immediately, the alarms are raised and a piercing screech fills the whole house. Kingsley rushes in and I follow, and we find ourselves in a narrow hallway. Kingsley swears and kicks over a table, simultaneously enlarging it and pulling me down behind it for cover. I cast "Adaugeo" on our bootleg bunker, slightly augmenting its protection, earning me an approving nod from Kingsley. Almost immediately after, spells start splashing against it, a few slipping through and ripping chunks out of the enlarged wood.

Kingsley casts a "Aegis Navitas", an Auror-Standard area shield that allows for one-way protection around us before standing up and peering over our 'bunker'. I sneak a look out from the side, and can see at least seven Death Eaters are crowded at the entrance of the common room the hallway we're in leads to. They're keeping up a steady stream of spells, but none come close to cracking Kingsley's powerful shield. I assume this is because they're recruits, and if their performance is any indication, they're especially green.

Kingsley raises his wand above his head like a whip, muttering an incantation I cant hear, but I recognize it anyway. It's "Sangre Ola", or whats more commonly known as the Wave of Blood. It's Kingsley's signature spell, and if these Death Eaters were more seasoned, they would know why it put the fear of Merlin in any who crossed the Auror's path.

It's his signature spell because not many others have the bollocks to use it. It calls for a sacrifice of blood. I can see the huge gash open on Kingsley's chest, and instead of oozing out, the blood shoots forward, coalescing at a focal point in front of him, before exploding out in a wave towards the Death Eater's on the other end of the hallway. The self-inflicted injury the spell causes becomes a wave that revisits the caster's wounds thrice over on whoever is in its range. Four of the seven Death Eaters fall to the ground, laid low with various gaping wounds on their bodies.

The remaining recruits refocus their spells, casting heavy bludgeoners and explosive spells to drain the power of Kingsley's shield as they disperse, separating and getting cover in the room across from us. I can see the shield flicker in front of us, signalling it is about to fall. Kingsley straightens and shoots responsive spells at the remaining Death Eaters, but nothing's connecting and he's about to lose the offensive.

I roll out from the side of the table and start crawling up through the hallway. Spells fly overhead, none aimed at my invisible form but still coming close enough to scare the shite out of me. I make it to the entrance of the common room, still flat on my stomach, before I crawl under a table and come out on the other side of the room, behind the fire of the remaining Death Eaters and immediately to the side of one of them.

I put my wand right up to the closest Death Eater's ribs and cast Ossiobruo. I hear the crack of his ribs, and he falls to the floor gasping for breath, probably from a punctured lung. The other two Death Eaters yell out and turn to their fallen comrade, not seeing me but sending spells in my direction anyway. I hear a loud crack and Kingsley appears in the doorway, casting a Percictum, the 'Black Lightning' hex Moody favors so much, felling the Death Eater to my right and I catch the other with the first spell I can think of, which is embarassingly enough 'Reducto'. I suppose my adrenaline and how frightened I am overpowers the spell, because it breaks through the recruit's rudimentary shield and sprays his blood everywhere from the sudden hole that materialized in his gut. All of the Death Eaters are down and all I can hear are my own ragged breaths and the still-going shrill noise of the alarm wards.

Kingsley surveys the bloodbath and walks up to one of the Death Eaters on the floor, one of the ones he had taken down with his Wave of Blood, who had survived it. He quickly casts the same spell he used in the garden, decapitating the wounded man. He repeats this again on the recruit he hit with 'Black Lightening'. Using the down time, he casts a battlefield medical charm, "Consutum", to stunt the flow of the gash he opened in his own chest. I watch all this detached, thinking idly that I just killed two men. What the fuck am I doing here? Kingsley is a professional, a force of nature. He dropped these guards like they were nothing, and all I can do afterwards is shake and try to stop my nausea.

"Well done. These were obviously the recruits, or they would've taken more than," he pauses to cast a Tempus charm, "two minutes to dispatch. If we're lucky, we have eight more before word gets to the rest of these bastards and reinforcements arrive. If I had to guess, whoever is in charge of the training here is hold up behind wards in the Dungeon where Hestia is with a few bodyguards. Look sharp, Potter."

He strides past me, carefully moving through to the hallway on the other side of the common room. He casts a charm I don't recognize on each door we pass, before pausing at one.

"This is the entrance. Same rules, Potter. Follow and don't engage. If it's an Inner Circle member, as I'll bet it is, who's in charge of this operation, you let me handle it and try to get Hestia. They'll use her to their advantage. I'm the distraction. When you get to her, you use that portkey and get the fuck out of here. You will get her of here! You do not wait for me. Clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good." He backs away from the door and motions for me to do the same, reaching into his cloak. Taking out what looks like a miniature ward stone, he tosses it to the ground in front of the door and mutters a wandless spell that makes the stone glow. A loud 'crack' and the stone disappears, and the door swings open. Without a backward glance at me, he walks in and down the stairs leading to the dungeons. I follow at a careful distance.

I take deep gulps of breath and give up the Occlumency exercises entirely. They're not helping, and I'm about this close to hyperventilating. I asked for this. I asked to come along, and I know that, but I'm well out of my league. I wonder how kindly Kingsley would take to the notion that he's not that different from Bellatrix, as they both seem to enjoy the thought of seeing me tossed into the 'deep end'.

Kingsley reaches the bottom of the steps in front of me and immediately stiffens. I wonder for a split second what he sees to give him pause before reaching the bottom and seeing for myself.

Lucius Malfoy is across from us, sitting at a table on the other end of the dungeon. His wand is limply held at his side. Three bodyguards flank him, wands trained on Kingsley (and me, though they don't know that I suppose). Hestia is chained on the table Malfoy sits at, naked and covered in deep gashes. Her face is a mess of blood and bruises, her breasts in even worse shape.

"Hmm, so this is the rescue mission Dumbledore has mounted? 'The Lion', all by his lonesome," Malfoy drawls in that aristocratic way of his, hooded eyes flickering almost amused in Kingsley's direction.

Kingsley says nothing, but his wand moves almost imperceptibly to a ready position.

"Tut tut, little Lion. You don't want to be hasty, do you? This young lady here may be broken, but she still draws breath. Would you have me take that from her as well, as I have her will? So easy to break... such a shame that the minions of Albus so weak nowadays, don't you agree?"

I hear Kingsley swear under his breath. Obviously, he knew a situation like this was likely waiting for us in the dungeon, but his window of opportunity is paper-thin, given Hestia's position.

I swallow my fear and raise my wand slowly, so as to not give away my presence by the shifting of the light the movement causes. Kingsley slowly moves his leg backward, coming in contact with my heel.

"This is beneath you, Malfoy. Do you fear me that much, to hide behind hostages and recruit fodder? Aren't you the least bit curious to see if you could actually defeat me?"

Malfoy snorts lazily and brings a hand to Hestia's naked breast, giving it a mockery of a loving caress. "You've misjudged me greatly, Lion, if you feel pathetic insults could ire me. You would no doubt be a match for myself, but could you best me and still save this girl's life? I think not. No, lets barter, shall we? Your life for," he pauses and gives Hestia a vicious squeeze, "this husk's. My lord would be pleased at such a worthy trophy as yourself."

Kingsley rolls his head as if in contemplation, but subtly indicating the Death Eater on the far left. After a moments hesitation, he pushes back on his leg, signalling me. I whisper 'Imperio', targetting the man Kingsley picked out. I feel the sickly connection of my will overpowering another's, the coil of my mind round his.

In his mind, I whisper: 'When the first spell is cast, attack your companions.' I feel a very light resistance in my mind, proving the weak will this Death Eater must possess.

What I didn't expect, however, was that Malfoy would sense the Unforgivable. He immediately jumped out of his chair and moved out of the way, slashing his wand across the air with a sub-vocal spell that immediately slits the throat of the Death Eater I had Imperio'd. Kingsley jumps right into action, unleashing another "Sangre Ola". Malfoy shielded himself skillfully, but the remaining two guards weren't so lucky.

Malfoy lazily flicks his wand in Kingsley's direction, giving a little twirl that unlocks Hestia's chains and twirls her into the air, a human shield for himself. Hestia, previously unconscious, wakes at this, her half-glazed eyes rolling everywhere in primal horror.

Kingsley roars in frustration, taking a Sangre Ferveo from Malfoy to his non-wand arm, which immediately burns a huge wound down the length of his forearm, so that he can counter Malfoy's charm and glide Hestia to safety. He's screaming in pain as he directs her toward me, but a wave of Malfoy's hand sends her crashing to the ground, her yell of pain at the impact ear-shattering.

I stalk forward from my hiding place, trying to get to Hestia's position, across the room and a few paces from Malfoy. I freeze when he places a boot on her throat. All I have is the portkey, and if I use it now, I would take Hestia and Malfoy, not a wise decision.

"I don't think so, little Lion. You must realize you've earned me my Lord's displeasure by dispatching so many of his new recruits. I'll not be denied the pleasure of rutting this whore again before facing him. She was so easily trained, you know. It only took hours before she gave in to me. Oh, the things she let my Brethren and I do, Lion..."

Hestia's gagging under the pressure of Malfoy's boot. Kingsley looks at her for a split second, which is all the opportunity Malfoy needs. He casts a "Crucio" that gets past Kingsley's shield, causing him to fall to the floor, screaming in agony. I'm reminded of Bella telling me that Malfoy's skill in Sadomancy is second only to Voldemort's, surpassing even herself. I give an involuntary shudder at the pain I know Kingsley must be going through.

Malfoy pours his energy into the spell, keeping one foot firmly on Hestia's throat. I'm in the middle of the room, right in between Malfoy and Hestia and Kingsley. With Malfoy distracted, my window of opportunity is fleeting, but I don't know what decision to make. Hestia, or Kingsley?

I take a deep breath, and make my move. With a banisher, I manage to make Malfoy stumble back a few steps, breaking his Crucio and removing him from Hestia. I toss myself on top of her and activate the portkey, taking us both away as I hear Malfoy's screams of frustration mingle with Kingsley's screams of agony at a renewed Crucio.

**********************************************************************************

Hestia and I tumble to the alley Kingsley and I departed from near #12 Grimmauld Place. Hestia slipped back to unconsciousness, and I roll myself off her carefully, minding the many broken bones I'm sure she has. I shuck off my invisibility cloak and try desperately to remember how to cast a portkey, to get Hestia to St. Mungo's.

"Harry?"

I turn, slowly, and find myself face to face with Remus.

"Fuck."


End file.
